


Small Weird Love

by Emjayelle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Growing Up, M/M, Sexual Identity, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjayelle/pseuds/Emjayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is thirteen and in love when he kisses Arthur for the first time. His skin is always too tight, there’s constantly the taste of chlorine in his mouth, and a lot of things—too many things—are left unsaid. It’s very complicated and very confusing, not helped at all by the fact that Arthur doesn't seem to know what he wants either. Early teenage awakenings, unrequited love, pining, coming of age, and feelings. Lots of feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for [THIS](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/32238.html?thread=32863470#t32863470) prompt on the KMM (based on the first stanza of Richard Siken's poem "A Primer For the Small Weird Loves"
> 
>  **Warnings** : lots of teenage feelings. LOTS. And a bit of bullying/homophobia. A bit of underage sexy times (they are both about 16 when it happens), drinking and smoking as well. Teenage angst.   
> (also: Merlin/OMC)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to [beccadearie](http://beccadearie.livejournal.com/) for the beta and for keeping me company and listening to me while about this fic a lot, and to [pensgarth](http://pensgarth.livejournal.com/) for the beta as well and the Britpicking. And to both of them for keeping me company in google docs way too many times. You are both absolutely amazing.  
> Any mistakes left are mine and mine alone.
> 
>  **ETA:** This fic was re-edited a bit in April 2013. Mostly general fixes in sentence structure and dialogue tags etc. Some small things were deleted, but nothing major was changed.

He was going to die here, he thought, here in this swirling world of blues and greens that tasted horribly like chlorine. He was going to drown with Arthur Pendragon’s hand in his hair and he was going to let it happen. He was thirteen, and he was ready for it.  


The day was so perfectly bright. The back garden of the Pendragon’s house was filled with happy people walking around in their colourful bathing suits. The sound of silly pop music filled the air, blasting from the speakers facing outside through the second floor windows. Skin glistened everywhere: with water and sunscreen and sweat. Plastic plates and cups littered the grass and the cement around the swimming pool. Some floated on the sun-heated turquoise water, bouncing around aimlessly every time someone jumped into the deep end, sending them crashing along the steps at the other end, like dead fish pushed upon shore by the sea.  
  
Merlin had dipped his toes in the water when he first arrived, the warmth of it sending a chill down his spine--a longing twisted by fear.  
  
He wasn’t a very good swimmer.  
  
He had let his toes leave wet imprints on the cement before retreating to the shade of the trees bordering the edge of the grounds.  
  
It was Arthur Pendragon’s birthday. At least half of their year had been invited to the party, and that included Merlin only because it included Gwen, who was always invited by Morgana, Arthur’s step-sister. These were the degrees of separation between them, Merlin thought: a sister barely tolerated, that sister’s best friend and that best friend’s best friend—Merlin. He might as well have been invisible.  
  
Which, conveniently, he sort of was. As soon as he had taken his place in the shadows of the trees he had promptly been forgotten. Even Gwen had left him to his own devices, too busy blushing and chatting with a very bare-chested Lance. Merlin forgave her though. It was, after all, a very pretty bare chest, attached to a very pretty face, behind which was a very pretty personality.  
  
So. Good on Gwen.  
  
Anyway, he had only come for Arthur—bright, loud, and prattish Arthur—who was too smart and too arrogant and too self-centred.  
  
Merlin loved him.  
  
He was thirteen and in love. In love with a boy. He knew it was wrong. Knew because his skin itched every time he thought about it. Every time he looked at Arthur’s skin, tanned and already taut with muscles from playing football all the time. At his blue eyes, not unlike the blues shimmering in the pool, or the sky, or the ocean, or… whatever. At his hair, all golden—a shade lighter under the harsh summer sun—always falling against his forehead in a way that made Merlin want to brush his fingers through it. At his mouth and how it curled in a smirk, or a grin or a smile, or opened to laugh out loud head thrown back, exposing his throat and stretching his collarbones—all curves, angles, shadows, and gleaming white teeth.  
  
Merlin _ached_ and wanted so much. It was like being smothered. Breathing was an issue.  
  
He’d never wanted something or someone as much as he wanted Arthur. Arthur was real in a way that Merlin wished he could feel. Real and tangible and _touchable_.  
  
Merlin sat there, concealed in the shadows, doing what he did best, which was looking and not being looked at. It’s not like he didn’t have any friends, or that people didn’t know who he was, but he was just very good at making himself scarce and forgotten if he wanted to. He could fold himself in corners and shadows, on the edges of crowds, and just let his presence slip away from people’s minds. He didn’t fancy playing football or trying to socialize with Arthur’s mates, and hanging out with only the girls always got him teased. Mostly by Arthur. And it wasn’t quite the kind of attention Merlin wanted from him. Not by a long shot.  
  
Merlin knew that he wasn’t normal. It wasn’t normal for a boy his age to want someone else so much, was it? Surely, these things happened later—at least when you were sixteen or seventeen—like in those movies Gwen and Morgana loved to watch. It didn’t happen when you were thirteen and had just discovered the year before that you wanted to kiss boys and not girls. Surely his body—too skinny, too lanky, too fragile, too young—was not meant to hold this much _wanting_. And surely it wasn’t suppose to hurt so much, and make your bones and muscles strain from the restraint you put on them to not reach and hold his hand. Not reach and touch his wrist. Not reach and kiss his lips.  
  
Or maybe it was suppose to be that way, when you were made all wrong.  
  
Because you were a boy and you liked other boys and this was just the way things went. This was just the way you were meant to feel forever. Because you have to keep your mouth shut, and your hands to yourself and pretend that you want to touch girls’ bums. You have to laugh conspiringly with the other boys when a girl your age walks by and you can see the straps of her new bra peeking from her shirt—signalling to all that, yes, she had breasts to grab, effectively fuelling all their, and your, wank fantasies for a month. And pretend that it wasn’t just a big lie. That it didn’t eat at you. That you weren’t a fraud, a freak.  
  
That you weren’t alone.

Merlin’s skin hadn’t stopped itching since that evening when he was waiting for his mum to pick him up from the Pendragon’s house, after having spent the afternoon with Gwen and Morgana. He was just sitting there, on the front steps, and saw Arthur walking up the long driveway, all sweaty and dirty from football practice. His hair clung to his forehead, his skin was flushed, and his eyes were impossibly bright, it seemed, in the fading light of the day.  
  
It had been like being punched in the stomach.  
  
Arthur walked up to him and, with a small smile and a groan, sat beside him on the steps, slowly undoing the laces on his dirty football boots.  
  
“Hey,” he said with a grin and a quick glance in Merlin’s direction. “What are you doing?”  
  
Merlin had to physically stop himself from moving away, or moving toward him, grabbing the edge of the step in a painful grip. Arthur smelled like salt and grass and sunshine. Merlin followed the trail of a drop of sweat from his forehead to the side of his neck with his eyes, wanting desperately to just catch it with the tip of his finger. He held on to the step tighter. His throat was dry, it was taking him too long to answer. Arthur frowned at him with concern. It surprised Merlin since he was always prepared for annoyance, or even a mocking look, but not for concern.  
  
Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “You alright, mate? You don’t look so good.”  
  
That had changed _everything_. It did _things_ to Merlin’s body, tightened everything inside of him, twisting. There were knots in all of his veins, all of his muscles. His bones were knocking together as they collided in the too tight space that he had become— everything wound up in an intricate mess—just from the mere touch of Arthur’s hand on his shoulder, with his fingertips digging into his skin, burning through his t-shirt.  
  
Merlin forced himself to swallow and smile lightly, which probably came off more as a grimace. “Yeah. I’m just… just waiting for my mum.” His voice was hoarse and low. “I don’t—I mean... I think I feel a bit sick.”  
  
And there it had been again, concern on Arthur’s face as he squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter. Oh God.  
  
“Well, take care, yeah?” With one small slap on Merlin’s back, Arthur walked inside the house, leaving him to painfully unfold his fingers from the edge of the step, all stiff and bruised.  
  
He was still a mess when his mum arrived. Still a mess later that night in his bed when he stared at the ceiling, touching himself—pleasure and shame all over his body. Still a mess a year later when he sat in the shadows of the trees at Arthur’s birthday party, watching as Arthur, in his bright red swimming trunks, jumped into the pool to resurface a few seconds later, wet and laughing and utterly beautiful.  
  
Still a mess. Always a mess.  
  
His skin would not stop itching.

All things considered, there wasn’t actually that much he could have done when Arthur hauled himself out the deep end of the pool and ran over to him, a bright smile on his face. Everything about Arthur was blinding. His trunks clung to his legs and hips in ways Merlin really didn’t want to think about. It was unfair that Arthur’s body was already so powerful and proportioned and elegant in a way that no thirteen year-old’s body had a right to be. Merlin was just starting to grow, and his arms had taken a head start. He’d shed his baby fat overnight—he was just a long, lanky body of jutting bones and too-pale skin. When he walked, he was awkward and hunched and clumsy.  
  
He would have hated Arthur for his ease if he hadn’t loved him—wanted him—so much.  
  
Arthur wasn’t supposed to know he was there. Arthur wasn’t supposed to be _aware_. Merlin had seen Gwen look around, obviously searching for him, and her gaze had passed right over him. He had folded himself so carefully. Damn his jutting bones and growing spurt; he was losing his touch.  
  
Arthur stopped right beside him, so close that drops of water fell on Merlin’s arm. He watched as they slowly slid toward his elbow. Merlin was fascinated with the way the light hairs on Arthur’s legs clung to his wet skin, and how the water dripping from his trunks curved around the defined muscles of his calves. _Footballer’s legs_ , Merlin thought. He was glad he was already holding his knees against his chest, otherwise the sudden tightening of his whole body would have been visible. Arthur’s toes dug into the grass.  
  
“Hey Merlin,” he said, voice cracking a bit.  
  
There was a comfort; Merlin’s voice was constantly doing this too.  
  
He looked up, only to be met by one of Arthur’s utterly disarming grins, one that reached his eyes and did things to Merlin’s stomach and lungs; the former twisting almost painfully, the latter suddenly, impossibly, unable to work properly. He cleared his throat twice before being able to answer.  
  
“Hey Arthur. Happy… um… Happy birthday.”  
  
“Thanks mate! Wanna come swimming with us for a bit? You’ve been here for a while.”  
  
Merlin’s internal flailing had nothing to do with the fact that Arthur had known all along that he was there, and everything to do with the fact that he really wasn’t a good swimmer and that swimming made him nervous. Or, you know, all of the above.  
  
He wanted to say, _No thank you, I’ve eaten too much and I wouldn’t want to get a cramp_ or _Thanks, mate, but I think Gwen was looking for me earlier and I was about to go and see what she wanted_ , or _I can’t swim well, please don’t make me, please_. But all the wanting inside of him seeped through all of his pores, and wrapped itself around Arthur—his impossibly perfect thirteen year-old body, his cracking voice, his disarming grin—holding on for dear life.  
  
So, instead he said, “Yeah, okay.”  
  
He should have known. Should have known that it wasn’t a good idea. Should have known that the second his wanting had clung to Arthur, it would just drag Merlin along and possibly, probably, just kill him.  
  
Merlin followed Arthur out of the shade. He couldn’t help seeing how different they were in that moment. Merlin was pale and dark-haired, with skin that hated sunshine. He spent most of his summers inside, or safe in the shade of trees and parasols. Arthur was golden and blond and sun-kissed, spending most of his time outside, running on football fields and swimming in the pool. It was unfair, but quite inevitable, that it would be Merlin who would cross into Arthur’s world and not the opposite. After all, he was the one wanting something he couldn’t have. Something he shouldn’t even want in the first place.  
  
He hated how his body was betraying him at every turn.  
  
Merlin was already wearing his swim trunks. He had had no intention of going in the pool, but they looked like normal shorts and Gwen had insisted that he wore them, just in case. He had argued that there wasn’t much chance of that happening, and she had retorted that the Pendragons also had a hot tub and that he might want to try that. Merlin knew when to give in to Gwen, if only because it made her happy, and there was a part of Merlin that always wanted to make her happy.  
  
He hesitated taking his shirt off. The wave of self-consciousness that hit him almost made him double-over and run back to the safety of the shadows where nobody would look at him and where his skin would not burn red, both from the shame choking him and the merciless sun. It figured that the day would be so perfectly clear and bright on Arthur’s birthday.  
  
It almost always rained on Merlin’s. He tried not to read too much into that.  
  
He took a deep breath and pulled his shirt over his head. Arthur was already back in the water, and Merlin made an effort not to look at him as he stepped onto the diving board. His ears were burning and he was sure everybody was looking at him; all the girls, and all the sports-playing boys that didn’t seem to have awkward bodies that betrayed them—bodies that desired things that were wrong, but oh so beautiful. His shame forced him to disregard how fucking nervous he was about going in the water, and to just jump, if only to hide himself and his body. So, he did.  
  
He knew the water was warm, but it still felt cool against his overheated skin. He didn’t trust himself to swim properly without looking like a flailing octopus, so he let himself sink to the bottom of the pool and pushed himself back up with a sharp kick. He grabbed the edge of the diving board and just hung there, catching his breath, looking at the moving, shimmering blues and greens the water cast on his chest and legs.  
  
“Hey Merlin!”  
  
Merlin looked past his arm, and saw Arthur and some of his friends standing in the shallow end, looking at him.  
  
“Wanna play water polo?” Arthur asked with a wide smile. _Damn_ , Merlin couldn’t look at that smile right now, it made him do things he didn’t want to do, like swimming and playing sports he was rubbish at, sports he didn’t even know how to play. He closed his eyes against it.  
  
“No. I’m okay, thanks, I’ll just… I’ll just stay here.”  
  
He heard the sound of someone swimming toward him, strong long strokes in the water, as if the pool itself was something to conquer. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Arthur. Breathing was once again an issue.  
  
“Are you going to hang there all day, _Mer_ lin?” The mocking tone in Arthur’s voice made Merlin smile. There. That was familiar.  
  
But then Arthur was _there_ , grasping the other side of the board and Merlin opened his eyes to see him, mere centimetres away, flashing that stupid smile at him. His eyes reflected the water and the water his eyes and Merlin hung somewhere between the two, not sure if he had to swim or sink or drown, and _too close too close too close_.  
  
“So. _Mer_ lin. Don’t tell me you would rather stay by yourself or hang out with _girls_ more than play sport with me and my mates.”  
  
And yes, yes Merlin would rather. “I… I mean—It’s not that. I don’t know how to play, that’s all,” he said.  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes and Merlin bit his lip.  
  
“Fine, fine, _Mer_ lin, be like that. Say no to the birthday boy and eat all his food and—”  
  
“No! That’s not it!” Merlin panicked a little, his chest seizing in fright. “I just—you would lose with me, yeah? I’m bloody rubbish at sports, you know that! You tell me all the time!”  
  
Arthur looked at him seriously for a second before smirking, and Merlin looked back incredulously for a moment. Oh. Arthur was just messing with him.  
  
“Prat.”  
  
Arthur burst out laughing, throwing his head back. The sound was sharp and clear, bouncing on the water. Arthur’s arms were still clutching the board over his head, forcing muscles to move under his skin. His hair caught the sunshine and shone brightly, almost white. There were drops of water clinging to his collarbone, rolling down his chest. Merlin realised with a sharp, painful clarity that this was the most beautiful Arthur had ever been. Even better, he was laughing _with_ Merlin, not at him.  
  
This was something _new_.  
  
Merlin’s chest suddenly constricted, almost violently, and a wave of nausea rolled through him.  
  
He needed to leave. _Now_. But he didn’t want to swim to the ladder, and he didn’t want Arthur to see him shimmy himself along the board and then the side of the pool. He didn’t want to stay here and look at Arthur, or for Arthur to leave, or for his wanting to swallow him, devour him, gnaw at his bones, or…  
  
He was tired, so tired, and he wasn’t supposed to be, he just _wasn’t!_ Arthur’s skin was covered in goosebumps, his lips impossibly red, and Merlin lost his mind right then. Everything was so tight in him and he just wanted some release. He just wanted to _breathe_.  
  
So he leaned forward and kissed Arthur.

His chest was hollow and possibly filling with water, he wasn’t sure. The shifting blues around him were strangely comforting. All he could see, though, like a short movie on repeat, were Arthur’s eyes as he had pulled brusquely away from Merlin’s kiss, full of shock and anger, before promptly grabbing him and pushing him underwater. In his surprise, Merlin had swallowed quite of bit of water. It filled his nose and burned his lungs.  
  
Merlin decided, in one moment of clarity—suspended in the water with Arthur’s hand gripping his hair—that Arthur’s eyes were really the blue of the pool, because he thought that he would drown in them, and he was drowning in this pool and it was all the same in the end and it didn’t matter.  
  
Except he was struck with one thought, one bright realisation: _there hadn’t been disgust in Arthur’s eyes._ There had been no disgust and it _did_ matter. It mattered. It mattered. _Merlin_ mattered, right?  
  
He knew he deserved what was happening, because he hadn’t been able to keep the wanting to himself. To keep it from wrapping itself around Arthur, dragging Merlin along. Merlin hadn’t been able to resist the pull, hadn’t fought hard enough—had given in too easily. And he knew he deserved what was coming, but surely it mattered that he didn’t just stay here, with burning lungs and water in his stomach, the hand of the boy he loved pushing on him. It mattered.  
  
He lifted his arm and took hold of Arthur’s wrist, probably not as forcefully as he intended to—his fingers brushing more than grabbing, really. The touch seemed to startle something in Arthur because Merlin was suddenly yanked up, first by his hair, then by his shoulders. There was air in his lungs and everything _hurt_. He could vaguely hear Gwen yell something. The cement was hard and scraping under his knees and hands. Someone slapped his back hard.  
  
He threw up all his lunch and a lot of chlorinated water.  
  
Gwen’s hands were on his face pushing his hair away. He could hear Morgana yell at Arthur, but couldn’t really make out the words. There were other people talking and yelling, but he didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know. _There hadn’t been disgust in his eyes_.  
  
Merlin’s body was still too tight, even under the weight of his ever-expanding lungs.  
  
He was in a daze, too busy trying to get his breathing back under control to pay much attention to what surrounded him. He was aware enough to keep his eyes off Arthur though. Everybody must be looking at him.  
  
Gwen took his arm gently and dragged him to the front of the house where it was quieter. The sounds of the party were muffled and distant. Merlin took a deep breath. He hadn’t realised how noisy it had all been until now. He was glad for the sudden quietness. His thoughts were banging loud enough against his skull, as it were. They were like a whole orchestra playing different melodies, out of synch, on non-tuned instruments. His stomach hurt and he could taste bile and chlorine in his throat.  
  
Merlin scratched lightly at his upper arms, trying to get the itching to go away already, trying not to think how soft Arthur’s lips had been under his, in that second before half the pool water went down his throat. Trying not to think about all the people that had probably seen him kiss Arthur. Trying not to think that this was the end, that Arthur would hate him. That everybody would hate him.  
  
Gwen didn’t say a word. She just handed him his t-shirt and waited patiently for him to put it on. His movements were sluggish, like he was still suspended in the water. He almost wished it, because he couldn’t bear to face the sharpness of everything now that he was out. He pretended that the coolness behind his eyelids was just the water holding him while the world kept on turning too fast for him to catch up.  
  
Gwen led him to the front steps and sat beside him, rubbing his back soothingly. Merlin couldn’t look at her.  
  
“Are you alright?” she whispered.  
  
Merlin only nodded and buried his face into his knees. He didn’t want Gwen to see his face, to have to look at him. He didn’t want Gwen to hate him. But the next thing he knew her arms were around him, her head was on his shoulder, and she was hugging him.  
  
“Arthur is a pillock. He shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
Merlin didn’t say anything. He had deserved what happened. Wasn’t it what was suppose to happen when you couldn’t keep these kinds of things to yourself? When you went ahead and kissed people you shouldn’t? When it was all wrong—your wanting and your body and your heart and your mind and everything about you?  
  
“Gwen?” he mumbled. “Gwen, please don’t hate me, please.”  
  
His voice cracked. He might have let the sob that was climbing up his throat out if Gwen hadn’t just hugged him tighter and tighter until he could feel her arms shake with the strain. He had a hard time breathing, his lungs crushed between his legs and Gwen’s arms, but he didn’t say anything. Gwen was holding him and she didn’t hate him and, really, that was a bit more than he deserved. He had never felt so grateful to anyone in his life.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. Just… just _don’t_. I could never hate you. And certainly not for something like that,” she whispered against his shoulder.  
  
It was all very ridiculous: the way he wanted Arthur so much, the way he loved him, what it did to him, the way Merlin was so ashamed all the time of these things he couldn’t help feeling. Except he couldn’t let himself think it was alright. Because if it was alright, why did it _feel_ that way? Gwen didn’t let him go, just kept on hugging him.  
  
And Merlin kept on thinking, the one little clear sound distinguishing itself from the discordant orchestra in his mind: _There hadn’t been disgust in his eyes_.  
  
Gwen only let him go when Morgana arrived and sat on the other side of him, flush against his side. He knew that was her way of showing support, and he was grateful for every inch of her body that was touching his. She pressed a little closer.  
  
“Arthur is a giant arse,” she said after a while, looking straight in front of her.  
  
“I think… I think I surprised him that’s all.”  
  
Morgana scuffed. “Don’t defend him, Merlin. He’s a giant arsehole and doesn’t deserve your pity. I mean, even if he was surprised he really didn’t have to hold you underwater like that, even if it was for only, like, ten seconds or so. He’s a good for nothing pillock.”  
  
Ten seconds. It had felt longer than that.  
  
“I called your mum,” Morgana said.  
  
Merlin whimpered. He didn’t really want to have to explain anything to his mum right now. She would be all loving and caring and soft, like Gwen. But he didn’t think he could take the disappointment that was sure to be there as well at knowing that your only son is not what you wished he’d be. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell her though. Maybe she would never hear about this and he could just continue pretending that he wasn’t… _this_.  
  
“Don’t worry. I just told her you felt ill and had been sick. I didn’t tell her anything else, so you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”  
  
“Thanks, Morg. That’s… that’s really… thanks.” Merlin gave her the best smile he could manage at the moment. It wasn’t much, but she seemed to understand, and smiled back. She squeezed his hand before going back to the party, leaving Gwen to wait with Merlin.  
  
They stayed silent until Merlin’s mum arrived in their beat-up blue car. Merlin was once again grateful for Gwen who waved, and hugged his mum—chatting happily with her as if nothing was terribly, terribly wrong. It gave Merlin enough time to calm down and make the noise in his brain quiet a little. He didn’t want to alarm his mother too much. Of course as soon as she took a closer look at him, she frowned and knew instantly that this was more than just a little illness you get by eating too much food and standing in the sun too long.  
  
Sometimes he hated how well his mother knew him.  
  
But she didn’t say anything. She just let Gwen hug him once more, and sat with him in silence while they drove back home. She walked him to his bedroom, closed the blinds, and let him curl up in his bed. She tucked the covers around him and left, closing the door gently behind her. When it was time for dinner, she knocked on the door and opened it slowly to check if he was sleeping. When she saw that he was awake, she came in and put a tray filled with food on the corner of his desk. She put one of his favourite movies in the DVD player, kissed him on the forehead, and left once more, not once asking any questions.  
  
Hunith Emrys was the best mother in the world.  
  
He wasn’t that hungry, but he ate a little if only to keep his hands from shaking. He forced himself to watch the movie and not to think of anything—not of what had happened, or how his skin still itched, or how his body was still tight, or how the kissing should have fixed that. Apparently that’s not how things worked. He forced himself not to think of Arthur, and his lips, and the blues of his eyes—which was the blue of the pool that Merlin had swallowed or that had swallowed him, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think that _there hadn’t been disgust in his eyes_. He did a lot of non-thinking.  
  
When the movie ended he put another in. And another. Until he fell asleep.

The kitchen was bathed in golden morning light, bright and sunny with its yellow walls and red cupboard handles. Gauzy white drapes were floating in the opened window over the sink and in the backdoor. Hunith had put the red tablecloth on the table. Merlin’s white plate was already filled with sausages, eggs, and bacon, a tall glass of orange juice beside it. It all looked so cheery and it smelled delicious.  
  
Merlin wanted to climb back into bed.  
  
He normally loved this kitchen, especially in the mornings. It was the perfect place to wake up to. It was bright and airy and it always smelled good. His mum hummed while cooking—happy silly songs that made Merlin smile even if he was thirteen and had heard them a thousand times before. Sometimes, she put on the radio instead and chose obnoxious popular stations that made her frown at the state of music nowadays. It Merlin laugh, because she still tapped her feet to the beat and unconsciously danced to it while cooking.  
  
That morning though, the cheeriness hit him like a punch in the face. He thought, for one moment, that he’d prefer being back in the pool where things had not been yellow and sunny and bright and so _harsh_.  
  
His mum saw him and kissed him on the head, humming and dancing while she flipped pancakes over the stove. Merlin sat down in his chair and picked up his fork.  
  
He stared at his food a long time.  
  
It was a lie. All of this.  
  
He could not sit in this world of yellows and reds and gauzy white that smelled of happiness and home and comfort. Not while he was still living in a world of shifting blues and greens, shadows on his skin, a hand in his hair. He could not pretend. Because, if anything, his skin itched more than before. He craved more than before. He couldn’t understand why it was so. _Why?_ He didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t _choose_ to feel this way. It was just _there_ , and he couldn’t get rid of it no matter how hard he tried.  
  
And this bloody kitchen, with its bloody yellow walls and bloody red handles and bloody happiness, with his mum just cooking there, kissing him on the head and smiling and _not. asking. any. questions_. It was all just scraping at him, taking away all the layers of paint and camouflage and wallpaper he had put on himself in an effort to hide, leaving him utterly naked.  
  
  
“Mum,” he said, his voice cracking. It came from the bottom of his stomach—where there was still water waiting to drown him—and the sound was broken and foreign. He would have thought it belonged to someone else if it hadn’t collided against his lips, sharp and metallic and painful.  
  
Hunith must have heard it too, because she dropped her spatula, shoved the pan away from the flames, and was kneeling in front of him and gathering him into her arms before the sound even had time to finish filling the room.  
  
Merlin burrowed his face in his mother’s neck and cried with painful sobs that rocked his body and impacted against his ribs as they made their way up, scratching his throat. It was actually the first time he had cried about this. If he didn’t cry, then it meant that nothing was wrong, that it was just something to deal with until it went away. Except now it was real and it was there, and it wasn’t going away. He was floating in water and he wasn’t getting out.  
  
He whispered his secret in his mother’s ear, so low he was scared she wouldn’t hear him even though his lips brushed her skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it louder. He had never said it before. He cried more and his mother only held him tighter—like Gwen had done the day before—murmuring soothing sounds of _it’s okay_ and _I love you_ and _You’re alright_ and _My Merlin, my beautiful Merlin_.  
  
 _I love you I love you I love you_ , the most perfect words he had ever heard.

When he didn’t have anything left in him to cry, Hunith wiped away his tears with soft hands and a gentle smile, turned him back toward his plate and put the fork he had dropped back in his hand.  
  
“Eat,” she said in a tone of voice that meant you better not argue with her.  
  
Merlin was famished anyway. he dug into his sausages and eggs, not caring that they were cold, while his mum went back to making pancakes. She started humming her silly songs, and this time, it made Merlin smile.  
  
She was interrupted when the backdoor opened violently. An out-of-breath, slightly red-faced, Will ran into the kitchen and stopped in front of Merlin, crossing his arms over his chest. Merlin froze, his fork midway between his mouth and his plate.  
  
“So,” Will said, expressionless, “I hear you’re a bloody poof now.”  
  
“Will!” Hunith slammed the counter with her hand.  
  
 _Oh God, everybody knows_ , Merlin thought, and then: _of course everybody knows, of course of course of course_. He just stared at his friend—his oldest friend—and Will stared back not letting on what he thought. Merlin nodded slowly before he could really think it through.  
  
Will visibly exhaled and then, to Merlin’s surprised, got this annoyed look on his face—the one he got when he thought Merlin was being particularly stupid. He let himself fall into one of the kitchen chairs and grabbed a piece of bacon off Merlin’s plate.  
  
“You know,” he said, mouth full. “You could have just told me.”  
  
Merlin lowered his fork back onto his plate, still not quite believing what was happening.  
  
“Sorry?” he said, eyeing Will doubtfully. He was expecting him to start laughing and pointing at any moment, but Will just shrugged and gave him a grin.  
  
“Whatever mate.” He leaned forward once more to grab some food, but his hand was promptly slapped away by Hunith, who put a full plate in front of him. Then she whacked him behind the head.  
  
“I never want to hear that kind of language in my kitchen again, do you hear?”  
  
Will rubbed his head and mumbled an apology before digging into his food. Merlin hid his smile in his glass of orange juice.

If there was a slight blessing in having kissed Arthur Pendragon on his birthday, it was that Arthur Pendragon’s birthday was at the beginning of July, meaning that Merlin didn’t have to go back to school for another two months or so.  
  
He didn’t think he could have survived the whole thing if he had had to go to school the following Monday. As it were, it was the summer holidays and on the following Monday he was just playing video games with Will.  
  
“Seriously, mate,” Will said never taking his eyes off Merlin’s small telly. “You could do so much better than Arthur ‘I’m a giant pillock’ Pendragon.”  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes. He was happy that Will was so accepting and all, but he really wished he would give it a rest. Since he had heard about the ‘pool-outing’ (and wasn’t that an hilarious play on words, thanks a lot Will... not), Will would not shut up about it. The thing was that Merlin couldn’t explain it. He just... couldn’t. He didn’t even understand it himself.  
  
Merlin couldn’t just start talking about the way his skin itched all the time, or his too-tight lungs, or the way his body felt small and constricted and always straining to expand, to reach out, ultimately unable to do so. How, when he was awake in the middle of the night—when it was dark and quiet, except for the vague tick-tock of the clock in the living room—he could hear his bones groan against the force that held them in. He couldn’t talk about the more embarrassing things either: the wanting curling around him, burning his skin constantly, coiling in the pit of his stomach, the unsteady beats of his heart every time he thought of Arthur, or how hot his whole body felt when he slid his hand under the covers and touched himself—biting his fist and trying not to think about Arthur’s blue eyes, the muscles in his arms, the the shade of his hair, and the way his lips had felt against Merlin’s.  
  
He couldn’t talked about how he wanted to feel them again, just to see—just to see how far the coil of his wanting could unfold. He couldn’t say how much he just _loved_ Arthur Pendragon.  
  
And wasn’t that the most pathetic thing of all?  
  
Who falls in love at twelve?  
  
And how do you make it stop?

It took him three weeks to find the courage to go back to the Pendragon house. Three weeks of not really going any further than his own back garden or the park around the corner—with Will or Gwen, even Morgana sometimes—in case he met someone he knew. In case he saw Arthur.  
  
The truth was that he did want to see Arthur. Not only because he thought about him all the time, but because he sort of wanted to apologize as well. The thought of it though, made him want to locked himself in his room and crawl under his bed.  
  
But three weeks after Morgana invited him to her house for a movie day with Gwen. Just like they used to do before Merlin went ahead and kissed her brother on his birthday.  
  
“Arthur will be there,” Morgana had said in a rush. “But he won’t be hanging out with us or anything. I warned him to stay away. Besides, he’ll probably leave some time in the afternoon to go play football or something.”  
  
Merlin’s heart had skipped a beat at the mention of Arthur and he scratched absently at the back of his neck, and upper arms.  
  
“That’s okay Morgana. I’m okay. I’m not… angry with him or anything. It’s fine. I’ll be there.”  
  
It was true that he wasn’t angry at Arthur. He was scared shitless, that’s what he was. Scared that Arthur hated him. The only thing that kept Merlin from falling into that thought and drowning in it was the same old litany: _there hadn’t been any disgust in his eyes_.

The movie was dragging a little bit and Merlin used the downtime to go to the washroom. He went out in the hall and stopped on the landing for a moment, appreciating the quietness and stillness of the house. The Pendragon house, which was more like a mansion really, was modern—sleek lines and angles, white walls, chrome fixtures, glass panes and black granite. There were huge windows everywhere, but even on sunny days the house was cold and still. It wasn’t lived in. Not the way his house was anyway. Uther Pendragon liked order and cleanliness. Everything had to be in order. There was never an object in the wrong place, never a book opened across the arm of a sofa, never a pair of shoes out in the hall, never a speck of dust on the grand piano in the living room.  
  
On days like today, when it was raining and the clouds were low and heavy across the landscape, the house was downright spooky. Merlin shivered.  
  
Sounds were coming from the kitchen downstairs. Merlin froze in panic. Arthur. It had to be Arthur, he was the only other person in the house beside them. Merlin was tempted to run to the bathroom and wait there until he was sure that Arthur was back in his room. This was his chance to see him though. Maybe he could find the right words to tell Arthur how sorry he was, and look in his eyes and make sure, really, really sure that Arthur didn’t hate him. Or found him irrevocably repulsive. Or something.  
  
Anything.  
  
Merlin took a deep breath and went downstairs. He wasn’t sure why he thought it was a good idea to have this discussion in the Pendragons’ kitchen, but here he was and Arthur was there, fixing himself a sandwich on the large black counter, his skin a nice contrast against it.  
  
“Morgana,” he said without looking up. “I know you threatened to chop my balls off if I left my room, but I was hungry and really you can’t expect me to—”  
  
He stopped when he saw Merlin. His hands froze on the chopping board, the blade of the knife he was holding reflecting the rain-splattered glass of the windows all around them. Merlin stared at him.  
  
Arthur’s eyes were big in surprised, and Merlin thought he saw fear there too. Maybe. Merlin’s heart gave a painful twitch, the knots in his veins pulled taut, his stomach dropped, his bones shrunk. He had given up on his lungs functioning properly a long time ago. Was it possible to have a very silent, very still panic attack? Arthur’s body was as stiff as his, his knuckled-white grip on the knife a bit frightening.  
  
Arthur noticed Merlin looking at it. He looked down at his hand and released his grip, putting the knife down with exaggerated care. He didn’t look back up at Merlin.  
  
All was silent, except for the rain hitting the tall windows, the faint howling of the wind outside, and the soft sound of their breathing. Everything was grey and black and white. The only colours—the blond of Arthur’s hair, the dark red of his shirt, the green of the pepper he was still holding in his left hand—were dulled out by the air around them, sucked of their brilliance by the shadows playing on the walls, the hazy reflections on the faucets and on the shiny surfaces of the stainless steel appliances.  
  
The air was unmoving and wet. Merlin, for a brief moment, smelled chlorine. This world wanted to drown him as well, but this was more like floating on a cold Northern lake with rain falling on your face, filling your nose.  
  
“Hi,” he said, not really able to think of anything else to say.  
  
Arthur looked back at him, his gaze both insecure and strong. But not disgusted, not repulsed. Not disgusted. _Oh God_.  
  
“I… look Arthur, I wanted to—what I mean is…”  
  
He let out a sigh and grabbed at his hair, trying to gather his thoughts into something. He wanted to say _I’m sorry for embarrassing you_ or _Sorry for making you uncomfortable_ or _Sorry for being in love with you_ , but really he wasn’t going to say that last one. Maybe he should say sorry for kissing Arthur, but he didn’t really want to apologize for that.  
  
Instead he blurted out: “You could have killed me.”  
  
He cringed. That wasn’t… right. There hadn’t been any accusation in his voice. It was just a statement of fact. It definitely _was_ melodramatic, though. Merlin had been under only for about ten seconds, and there hadn’t really been any chance for him to drown. He couldn’t really tell Arthur how he was still suspended there with his hand in his hair, and that for a vague, very brief moment, he really would have let Arthur kill him.  
  
There was a lot of things he still couldn’t say. Would probably never say. He wondered if you just accumulated those in your lifetime, and if you could collapse under their collective weight. Because he was thirteen and he had a lot, and it was already getting heavy. He was already tired.  
  
Arthur just stared at him, confused, and maybe there was a glint of guilt in his eyes, Merlin wasn’t sure. He let the silence stretched and _oh god he hated this_. Then Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed, and his body moved again.  
  
“Really _Mer_ lin, don’t be such a drama queen, it doesn’t suit you.” he said, picking up the knife again and starting to chop the pepper.  
  
Merlin let out a surprised laugh, torn between insulted, hurt and incredibly, completely, fantastically _relieved_.  
  
“Arsehole,” he said, pushing his hands in his pockets. Arthur’s lips quirked a little, though he didn’t look up.  
  
“Just, you know... sorry. Yeah. Sorry.”  
  
There. That should cover it.  
  
Arthur just hummed in agreement. Merlin looked at him for a few more seconds, trying to memorize every line, every hue, every shadow. _Both of us are floating on this lake and one of us has to get out_. He took it all in, and turned to leave.  
  
“Merlin!"  
  
Merlin turned around, and Arthur came toward him purposefully. He stopped an arm length away and just grabbed Merlin's shoulder with his right hand. His mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. Merlin could see emotions and thoughts flicker in his eyes, too fast for him to understand. Arthur frowned more and more as the silence stretched.  
  
Merlin saw that he had slight freckles on his nose—probably due to all the time he spent in the sun—and that he wasn’t disgusted. Arthur was touching him again. Without disgust.  
  
Arthur's fingers dug a bit more into his shoulder, their heat spreading all over Merlin’s body.  
  
Finally, Arthur just let him go. "See you around, Merlin,” he mumbled, not quite looking at him. He left the kitchen, his lunch forgotten on the counter.  
  
Merlin clung to the back of a chair and waited for his lungs to remember how to breathe. The world was blue and green once again.

Merlin only saw Arthur a few times during the rest of the summer, most often when he was hanging out with Morgana and Gwen at the Pendragons’. They didn’t really talk much. Their conversations were short and slightly awkward—separated by the gulf of all the things they left unsaid. Their paths only crossed in town once. Merlin was having ice cream with Will and Freya—who was back from a summer trip with her parents. They were sitting at one of the wooden tables in front of the ice cream parlour, and Will was jabbering about god knows what. Freya was giggling at his antics, making him more exuberant and loud, which in turn made Merlin shake his head and roll his eyes. It was all wonderfully familiar. Merlin had missed this—this normalcy. He had thought that maybe he would lose it once… once they knew. People _knew_ and it made him feel a bit sick to think about returning to school. He was glad that at least there would be Will, and Gwen, and Freya, and even Morgana to talk to and hang out with. Now if he could just convince Will to stop making bad puns and jokes about gay sex—just thinking about it made his skin burn.  
  
He heard his laugh first. Then came the prickles on the back of his neck, and the shortness of breath as Arthur walked by with a group of his friends. Merlin looked steadily at the table. He hoped Will was too busy trying to make Freya laugh, to see Arthur. There was a good chance of Will punching him in the face if he did, and then promptly get his arse handed to him by Arthur and his five football-playing mates. Merlin didn’t want to have to deal with that.  
  
Merlin only looked up once they were well passed their table, only to see Arthur looking at him over his shoulder. He offered Merlin a smile and a small wave of his hand. Merlin barely had time to return the smile before Arthur turned back.  
  
Merlin’s throat was dry, while melted ice cream ran down his hand and wrist

The morning of the first day of school, Merlin was (very probably) having an epic panic attack in the middle of his kitchen. He was running late. His shirt was still untucked and his tie was askew. He had a piece of toast in his mouth, and he was frantically looking around for _something_. If he didn’t get out of the house in the next five minutes, he would have to run to school to make sure he wasn’t late. Merlin didn’t do running very well. Somehow his legs had gotten longer, but they never really seemed to agree on working together as a cohesive unit.  
  
His mum came into the kitchen, took one look at him and left. She came back a few moments later with his school bag, took his lunch from the table and shoved it in before closing it properly. She grabbed the toast from Merlin’s mouth. “Swallow,” she said, while simultaneously arranging his shirt and trousers and tie like he was five years old again. Merlin almost choked on it, but managed to swallow. He just stood still, panting in a beam of sunlight, as if he had run a marathon. And maybe he had, because his heart was hammering in his chest, he was sweating under his arms, and he could feel his face burning red. His whole body _ached_. Hunith gave him a once over, making sure all of his clothes were in order.  
  
Merlin just stared at her, trying to catch his breath. _God_. Hunith grabbed his chin tightly in her hand and forced him to look into her eyes.  
  
“You listen to me, young man. There is _nothing_ wrong with you, do you hear? Nothing. And if you have any problem at school, you tell me. Do you understand?” There was such certainty in her gaze—such worry also—that Merlin could only nod. She hugged him tight against her chest, then shoved his bag into his arms and pushed his arse outside the front door before he could even blink. His mother was nothing if not efficient.  
  
Will was waiting for him in the driveway, casually leaning on their car. They walked to school together where Gwen and Freya were waiting for them.  
  
“You alright, Merlin?” Gwen asked quietly  
  
Merlin just nodded. He was trying very hard not to look around him, to only pay attention to his friends. He felt there was a giant neon sign over his head, an invitation to be mocked and ridiculed.  
  
The day was bright. Almost as bright as it was the day he kissed Arthur, but the air was cooler and the smell of new leather and freshly turned dirt filled the space of the schoolyard. It smelled of beginnings.  
  
If he was completely honest with himself, he was probably worrying too much. Firstly, he really wasn’t that memorable of a person to begin with. And secondly, nobody at school, beyond maybe the students in his year, knew who he was, or probably even cared.  
  
So he took a deep breath and smiled at his friends.  
  
“Yeah… look, it’s fine, okay? Let’s just not make a big deal out of it, yeah?  
  
“Yeah, okay, mate,” Will said with a sharp slap to his shoulder.  
  
“So Freya,” Gwen started, taking Freya’s arm in hers and walking into the school, “did you ever received another email from that cute boy you met in Spain?”  
  
Merlin laughed at the way Will spluttered. Gwen looked over her shoulder and winked at Merlin.  
  
The hand in his hair loosened a little.

Nothing bad happened, actually. Merlin suspected that it was mostly due to his friends, who were always with him outside of class. Gwen was loved by almost everyone, and she had struck a friendship with Lancelot on the day of Arthur’s party. He came to talk to her, and Merlin often. Lancelot was an athlete and absolutely everybody loved him. He was handsome, charming, and polite and kind to an almost annoying degree, one that makes you feel bad about yourself, but you can’t really begrudge him for it either. Merlin found they got along splendidly as long as they were not talking about sports.  
  
Will was not liked by most people, but he was so loud and annoying in general, nobody really wanted to deal with him.  
  
Even better, on the first day, Morgana—who usually did not really hang out with them at school except to talk to Gwen once in a while—made a point of talking to Merlin in the middle of the cafeteria where everybody could see them. She even hugged him briefly. Morgana was, for lack of a better word, popular. Not only for being Uther Pendragon’s daughter, therefore exceedingly rich, but she was also involved in school activities, and had won the national championship in archery last year. She had no qualms about using her father’s name and money to get what she wanted, or to dangle over people’s head. It was mostly for show, Merlin knew, but she kept saying that if she had to live with the man and suffer through his military-like attitude and demands, she might as well get something out of it. Nobody ever really wanted to test her.  
  
Morgana had made it clear that Merlin was her friend and that she would stand by him. School politics were strange and completely ridiculous, and while Merlin was absolutely grateful, he was even happier about the fact that Morgana actually considered him a friend and not just ‘Gwen’s friend’.

“Elyan came out to us, last night,” Gwen said.

They were sitting together outside the school, one afternoon in early October, waiting for Will to get out of detention. The sky was so incredibly blue, the clouds looked like they had been painted on. It was humid, the air heavy with water. It would rain later tonight, even though it didn’t look like it now. Merlin tasted chlorine in his mouth. It was always there somehow, on the edge of his tongue. He could never get rid of the taste.

It took him a few moments to process what Gwen had said.

“How did your father take it?”

Gwen laughed. “He just nodded and grumbled he had known all along and walked out of the room.”

“That’s… good.” He frowned. “I think.”

“I think so too. I think he was a bit upset, but mostly because he actually had no idea, you know? And I think… I don’t know. I think maybe he felt bad about that. About not knowing. Like he didn’t know Ely at all.”

They fell silent. The sun was harsh and the leaves in the tree nearby were turning gold. It reminded him of Arthur’s hair, the way it had looked, shining when he threw his head back to laugh, there, holding on to the diving board, just before Merlin kissed him. He scratched his arms.

“What about you?” he asked after a while. “Did you know?”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure,” Gwen said. “I thought that maybe, yes. He didn’t say anything, but after? Now that he’s out? Certain things make more sense.”

“Like what?”

“I think, maybe, I think he’s been going out with Percy for a while. But I didn’t ask him. He seemed pretty nervous and all, and I didn’t want to push if it was a secret. Or maybe, maybe, he’s just in love with him and it’s all unrequited or something.” She briefly glanced at him. “Like, that would suck for him, you know? So I didn’t really want to pry. Not right away, anyway.”

Merlin hummed noncommittally.

“Don’t tell anyone, right? He only came out to us. I don’t know when he’s going to come out to others at school. If ever.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said in a dry humourless laugh. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Gwen just took his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back.

Gwen wasn’t one for spilling secrets. In fact she was the best secret-keeper he had ever known, and she would never, ever betray someone if they had entrusted her with one. For her to tell Merlin about Elyan, was something she didn’t choose to do lightly. But he knew why she did it.

She did it so Merlin wouldn’t feel so alone.

Morgana and Arthur’s Halloween party was in full swing. Almost all the students in their year were present, as well as Morgana’s archery team and most members of Arthur’s football team.  
  
Costumes were mandatory, but Merlin had been at a complete loss as to what to wear. He did not want to face Morgana’s wrath if he showed up without a costume, so he took a sticker that said “Hello, my name is…” and wrote GOD on it in black marker. There. It was from Morgana’s favourite show, so he was banking on her getting, and loving, the reference.  
  
And she did. She laughed out loud, called him a genius and pushed him in the living room to somehow mingle with people. How he was supposed to do that, he had no idea. Mingling was not his thing. He really just wanted to find Gwen and Freya. They had come early to help Morgana so they had to be here somewhere. Merlin had come on his own own since Will was at at with a bad flu. He looked around for Gwen. She was supposed to be wearing a medieval dress—after thirteen years she had finally given in and dressed up as her namesake, Queen Guinevere. Will said it was just a ploy to try and snog Lancelot, Gwen slapped him behind the head. Again.  
  
Merlin wandered from room to room. There were a lot of people he didn’t know, and hadn’t even talked to here. Everybody was so busy having fun and dancing and chatting away, nobody paid attention to him. The air was warm and stuffy though, heavy with the smell of food, sugar, and the sweat of too many people wearing heavy costumes. Strangely, he could breathe more freely than he had in weeks. His veins expanded and his blood flowed, making him almost dizzy with the looseness of it. Like he could touch the bottom of the pool with his big toe, slightly grounded. He didn’t really get it.  
  
“I think someone spiked the punch,” he heard a policeman whisper to a mouse-girl.  
  
Merlin looked down at his half-empty cup. Ah. That would explain it.  
  
He rounded the corner to see if Gwen was in the kitchen, but the only people there beside a few older ladies working at the stove (to help with the food, he guessed) were Valiant, Oswald and Ethan. They looked at Merlin and smirked, their heads together, whispering, as they pilfered the plates of food on the counter. Merlin shivered under their gazes and retreated quickly. He crossed the living room, leaving his cup on top of the piano, vaguely thinking he should tell Morgana about the punch, but he couldn’t see her anywhere and he didn’t want to look for her either. He slipped through the large doors leading to the back garden without anyone seeing him.  
  
It was cold outside, and Merlin shivered. He could see his breath come out in clouds from his mouth. The sky was clear. Merlin shoved his hands into his pockets. He liked the cold. He had never particularly liked it before, but since… since Arthur, his body always felt like it was one thought away from boiling.  
  
Nobody was out and it occurred to Merlin that maybe he wasn’t supposed to be, that the garden was off limits. Uther probably didn’t want teenagers snogging in the bushes or something. Or falling in the pool.  
  
The pool.  
  
Merlin could see it vaguely in the distance. It was dark out, but he walked up to it. He stood on the edge and looked down. It was empty now, just a pit. No shimmering blues and greens, no floating, no body suspended in-between. It didn’t matter though. Merlin was still there whether there was water in it or not. Like it had imprinted itself in his chest, left its unmistakable taste in his mouth, making his lungs overflow.  
  
It wasn’t covered. Merlin walked along it, until he reached the steps of the shallow end. He went down and walked until he stood under the diving board. He looked up and, for one moment, he saw himself there. Saw the soles of his feet, his long limbs stretching themselves in the water. He saw Arthur’s legs and his red swimming trunks. He saw his hand in Merlin’s hair. He saw the way the shadows must have played against his skinny chest, his ribs. He even saw the moment he gave up, and then the moment he didn’t.  
  
It was beautiful in a disarming and slightly hurtful kind of way. Also, he was probably a bit drunk.  
  
God, he was cold.  
  
He lay down on the floor of the pool and looked up at the sky. The stars seemed to shift under his gaze, pulsing, pushing against the darkness—like his bones against his skin, like his heart against his ribs—trying reach for something, to expand themselves into the space that should be theirs, to fill the empty cavities in between.  
  
“You’ll catch a cold if you stay there.”  
  
Merlin startled and sat up straight. Arthur was looking down at him from the edge of the pool with a frown on his face. Merlin’s body tightened once more and he missed the looseness that had been there, even though the familiarity of his lungs malfunctioning was almost comforting. _Fuck, this should not be so complicated_ , he thought.  
  
“It’s fine,” he mumbled and stretched on his back once more.  
  
He heard Arthur walked around the pool, down the steps to come and stand next to him. Merlin closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at him. Arthur sat down and poked his thigh.  
  
“Seriously, what are you doing?” he asked.  
  
“Avoiding.”  
  
“Avoiding who?” Merlin could have sworn, if he hadn’t known any better, that there was an edge of insecurity in his voice.  
  
“People, Arthur. Just people.”  
  
 _Please leave please leave please leave. Please stay. Touch my thigh again. Please_.  
  
The sound of their breathing was amplified by the tiled walls around them. Merlin cracked his eyes opened a bit. Arthur’s breath was coming out of his mouth in quick small clouds against the dark sky. He was hugging his knees to his chest and he was staring at Merlin’s legs. Merlin lifted his head slightly and looked down at his jeans. Arthur was staring at the hole on his right knee, his skin white beside the blue fabric. Arthur slowly reached out and stroked the skin of his knee with the tip of one finger. It was gentle, barely the ghost of a touch.  
  
It burned through Merlin like a wildfire, igniting everything in its wake.  
  
Merlin brusquely sat up, too scared Arthur would see the changes in his body. Arthur retracted his hand and wrapped his arms around his knees once more. Merlin did the same. They sat like that for a while, their shoulders not quite touching.  
  
Merlin’s breathing was a bit erratic and he had a hard time focusing on anything else. His wanting had once again wrapped itself tightly around Arthur. Tighter than ever before, it was pulling and pulling and _pulling_. Merlin hid his face in his arms and bit one of his wrists hard. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, every muscle taut with the effort of _not giving in_.  
  
The pool might as well have been full of water, because he was definitely drowning. Or something like that. Something that involved a lot of non-breathing and choking.  
  
“You staying the night?” Arthur asked suddenly.  
  
Merlin tried to clear his throat as silently as possible before answering. “Yeah. Um… Morgana is letting me sleep in the guest bedroom. Gwen and Freya are sleeping in her room so… I hope that’s alright?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Arthur said softly.  
  
“Are some of your friends staying too? Would they need the room?”  
  
“Just Leon and Gwaine, and they’ll be sleeping in my room, so you’re good.” Arthur leaned his head on his arms and turned it a bit to look at Merlin, offering him a small smile.  
  
Oh. Merlin needed to leave. _Now_. Absolutely now.  
  
He got up and scratched at his arms and neck under the guise of rubbing warmth into them. “It’s cold. I’m going back inside.”  
  
He walked back to the house without looking if Arthur was following or not.

Merlin was on the verge of falling asleep when he heard the door to the bedroom creak open. He sat up quickly, but did not at all relax when he saw that it was Arthur.  
  
“Arthur? What… What are you doing here?”  
  
Arthur closed the door behind him and came closer to the foot of the bed. “Gwaine snores,” he said, not quite looking at Merlin. “Is it alright if I sleep here?”  
  
Merlin wanted to say _it’s your room, just kick Gwaine out_ or _no please no you can’t do this to me_ or _yes yes yes yes yes_. Instead he said:  
  
“Euh, sure, I guess. The bed is big enough for like five people so, I mean, it’s okay, I… it doesn’t bother me. Um.”  
  
Merlin faltered, but Arthur just rolled his eyes and smirked at him, before climbing on the other side of the bed. There must have been a mile of empty space between them, and it was too much and it wasn’t enough.  
  
Merlin settled back down on his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to focus on relaxing, on controlling his breathing. After several long minutes he heard Arthur whisper:  
  
“Merlin, are you sleeping?”  
  
Merlin did not answer. He couldn’t answer. He was not having a conversation with Arthur Pendragon, in the dark, in a bed. He just _couldn’t_. Arthur moved slightly, and Merlin only just managed not to move—probably because his body was so stiff already—when he felt Arthur’s fingertip across his cheekbone. Just one finger—like the one he had put on his knee—as if Arthur was scared of touching him.  
  
Arthur traced the edge of his cheek slowly, barely brushing his skin, before the touch disappeared. Merlin had never felt so bereft. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest it hurt. He had cramps in his toes from curling them too hard.  
  
He waited until he was absolutely certain that Arthur was asleep before getting out of bed, and almost running to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, and tried to get his breathing under control, palming himself through his pajamas and _fuck fuck fuck fuck_.  
  
What was that about? What was happening?  
  
It took a long time for him to calm himself, but he waited with his forehead against the cool ceramic counter. When the fire under his skin subsided a little, he went back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. He stood there a long time, staring at Arthur’s dark silhouette, at the way it slightly moved as he breathed calm and steady in his sleep.  
  
He slowly moved his left foot toward Arthur and rested his big toe lightly against one of his legs. He let Arthur’s warmth travel up his foot, his leg, his chest, until it filled him completely.Then he fell asleep.

It took them until mid-November to corner him after school. Maybe it took them this long because it was the first time Merlin was leaving school on his own since it had started in September. Or maybe they were just particularly bored that day and wanted to pass their frustrations on him. Who knew, really.  
  
Merlin and Will were waiting outside of school for Will’s father to come and pick him up. Will was a mess. His eyes were red and there was a tremor in his hands that he wasn’t quite able to hide, even by crossing his arms and squeezing his fingers in his armpits. Will had been crying in the loos, but he knew that he would never admit to it, and it was all better if they pretended that he wasn’t a bit broken inside today. The sky was appropriately grey and heavy with clouds, the trees were bare, the cement dirty and cracked and littered with cigarettes butts. Will’s sadness seemed to merged with the landscape, filling it, and all Merlin could do was to hold Will’s forearm tightly, while Will leaned his head against his knees.  
  
Will’s father arrived in his truck and Will left without looking at Merlin. It was okay though. Will would come to Merlin’s house later that evening. They wouldn’t talk about it, but they would play video games and maybe watch stupid shows. Hunith would bring them hot chocolate and cookies, even though she normally didn’t like them eating sugar after dinner. She wouldn’t kiss Will on his head, like she normally did, and chide him for eating too fast, or for swearing at the telly. Will didn’t want to be mothered today. Not today.  
  
Merlin sat a little longer on the steps in front of the school. He was the only one around, though he could hear the whistles and yelling coming from the practice fields on the other side of the school. He should be going. He should get home and try to do his homework before Will came over. He would never say he needed it, but he’d stay for the night. He’d curl up on Merlin’s bedroom floor beside his bed, and they’d talk a bit. But really, what Will needed the most was to not be alone in his house with his father today. The sadness was too heavy. Merlin thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt like they were drowning sometimes. Will’s pool was probably made of grey cold water, muddy, and bitter with minerals, not like the blues and greens of Merlin’s—deceptively dangerous, but beautiful all the same. He needed to go home and hug his mum and tell her he loved her, because Merlin still had his mum and Will didn’t, and he couldn’t even start imagining what that felt like.  
  
He didn’t hear them coming until there was a heavy hand on his shoulder hauling him to his feet. Next thing he knew his back was to the school’s brick wall, and Valiant, Oswald, and Ethan were crowding his space, twisted smirks on their faces.  
  
“What Emrys, no watchdog today? Where’s your little boyfriend when you need him, uh?” Valiant sneered at him.  
  
“I think I saw him crying in the loos today,” Oswald said. “Did you two have a fight?”  
  
Panic rose in Merlin’s chest. He tried to see how he could get out of this without being hurt. The sad part was that he wasn’t even surprised. He almost asked them what had taken them so long to begin with. He didn’t even want to try and explain that Will wasn’t his boyfriend. That nobody was his boyfriend. He wished he could come up with something witty and scalding to throw back in their faces, but really he was just hoping that his head wouldn’t get bashed against the wall.  
  
They were calling him names, probably in an effort to goad him, but Merlin didn’t care. He’d heard them all before. Oswald, Valiant, and Ethan were not the most original or imaginative blokes in the world. It didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt by them, but he wasn’t surprised. It’s not like he didn’t know, not like he was stupid. Not like he had hoped against all hope that he wouldn’t have to be in this situation after all. Well, okay, maybe he had a little. Reality settled in his stomach like a rock, and he was almost floored by it.  
  
In the end though, the words did not worry him that much. What worried him and made him plaster himself against the bricks, were how they seemed to tower over him, even though they were barely taller than him, invading his space. They were, all three, much larger than him. Not that it was difficult to be.  
  
He wasn’t really scared of what they were saying, or implying, or anything like that. He was scared of the punches that might come his way, He desperately tried to anticipate the moment and braced himself. His skin was clammy and he was sweating, but he was cold, colder than when he was lying at the bottom of the empty pool, before Arthur had touched his knee and made it feel like the Sahara.  
  
They pushed at his shoulders, leaving bruises there, he was sure. There was anger in their eyes, but Merlin had no idea what had set them off. He didn’t know if answering with his own words would subdue them or make them angrier. He definitely wasn’t about to try and physically push them off. No way. So he stayed there, trying not to look them in the eyes, trying to let their insults fly over him, trying not to beg to let him go, even though he really wanted to. He hoped that if they were about to punch him, they wouldn’t punch him in the face, because he really didn’t want to explain it to his mum, and he didn’t want to make Will angrier and he just didn’t want to have to deal with it at all.  
  
He was vaguely aware that their pushing and shoving kept slamming him against the uneven surfaces of the wall—creating bruises there as well as on his stomach—as if they weren’t sure whether to punch him or not. To cross that line.  
  
Merlin’s breath was short and pain filled his chest. There was a ringing in his ears and he couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore—maybe they were laughing, it didn’t really matter. He just wanted them to stop, or even to just punch him already so they could get over it. He tried very hard not to crumple at their feet in a pile of long limbs and easily kickable body parts.  
  
“Merlin?” he heard vaguely.  
  
Valiant, Oswald, and Ethan became silent, and Merlin turned his head to see Arthur standing a few feet away, confused. When Ethan moved out of the way, and Arthur had an unrestrained view of him, Merlin saw his eyes grow wide with understanding, and then fill with anger, his fists clutching at his sides, knuckles white.  
  
“What, Pendragon, angry we beat up little Emrys here a bit? You hoping he’s gonna kiss you again, is that it?” Ethan laughed.  
  
Arthur went white, but he stood his ground and said nothing. All his muscles were taut. He seemed to be stuck between moving and trying not to, his eyes scanning the faces of the other three boys, before settling on Merlin again.  
  
He had a hard time deciphering the expression on Arthur’s face. Relief and adrenaline at not having Valiant, Oswald, and Ethan’s undivided attention crashing through his body.  
  
They heard voices coming from the other side of the school, and soon the football coach and the rest of the team were walking toward them from the fields. Merlin took this opportunity to grab his bag and run around the other corner. He was sure Valiant wouldn’t come after him, not when the coach was so near.  
  
He leaned forward, hands on his thighs and forced himself to take deep breaths. Once he felt better and more clear-headed he lifted his shirt a bit to have a look. He hissed. There were already bruises forming there and the skin of his sides was really tender.  
  
He jumped when a finger touched it softly, sending him reeling backwards and falling on his arse.  
  
“Shit Merlin, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you,” Arthur said.  
  
Merlin was breathing fast. “S’fine,” he mumbled as Arthur helped him up, clasping his hand and holding him steady at the elbow.  
  
“Did they really hurt you?” he asked, his voice low and angry.  
  
Merlin didn’t say anything, just brushed off his trousers with one hand, trying to ignore how Arthur was still gripping his elbow and how he could feel his breath across his forehead. The new pain in his chest had nothing to do with the small beating he just got. Merlin could see the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, and tried to match it—to calm down, to _think_.  
  
They stayed silent for a while. Merlin kept his eyes down. Arthur—completely, unnecessarily close to him—smelled like grass and sweat and a bit like soap. The image of him sitting on the steps of his house beside him smelling almost exactly as he did now, more than a year ago flashed through Merlin’s mind. He clenched his hands in his trousers to refrain from reaching out and catching the drops of sweat already drying on Arthur’s arms. Arthur’s grip on his elbow was gentle but firm, like he was being, careful. Like he cared. Merlin swallowed hard.  
  
“I’ll tell Coach Grant about it,” Arthur whispered.  
  
Merlin looked up and Oh. Oh, they were really really too close right now and _step back step back step back step back, kiss me_.  
  
Arthur’s eyes were wide and so so blue. He was frowning a little, a long line between his eyebrows, and Merlin clenched his hands harder to stop himself from smoothing it out with his thumb. He just really wanted to touch Arthur right now.  
  
“They shouldn’t have done that,” Arthur said. “They were kicked out of practice and they were angry and—”  
  
Merlin felt like he’d been punched. He stepped back, wrenching his arm from Arthur’s grip, angry, needing to lash out, to say something. “Are you defending them?”  
  
“What! No! I was just saying why… why they—”  
  
“Whatever Arthur,” Merlin said, walking past him. He was too tired for this. And he _hurt._  
  
“Merlin, wait!”  
  
Merlin sighed; he just really wanted to go home now. “Look, Arthur, I get it okay?” he said, turning around. “They’re your footie mates and they’re part of your team and all, and I get that.”  
  
“They’re not my fr—”  
  
“It just doesn’t matter okay? I just want to go home.”  
  
Arthur just looked at him, fists clenched, a hurt look on his face. Merlin’s insides twisted at the sight, and it wasn’t fair, it just _wasn’t_. “I’ll be fine, okay? Thank… thank you for the help.”  
  
Arthur snorted at that, his fists loosening, and Merlin grinned a little.  
  
“Well, for having good timing, I guess. I’ll see you around yeah?” Merlin made sure to smile a little, though it probably looked forced.  
  
Arthur looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah… see you around, Merlin.”  
  
“Bye Arthur.”  
  
He didn’t say anything to his mum when he got home. He didn’t say anything to Will. He pretended not to hear his best friend cry in the middle of the night for a mother he didn’t have anymore. He knew Will wouldn’t want him to say anything. Merlin just tried to focus on the way Arthur’s fingers had felt around his elbows—not thinking about all the things that, once again, were left unsaid—ignoring the blue shadows dancing behind his eyelids.

They didn’t talk much at school. In fact, they didn’t talk much at all beyond greetings and simple _how’s it goings_. It never got much more personal than Arthur’s _are you alright?_ the day after, and Merlin’s quiet _I’m fine. Thanks_. They didn’t really have the same friends and they only had one class together (English), where Merlin sat in the back left corner and Arthur was somewhere in the middle between Vivian and Leon.  
  
That’s not to say that Merlin never looked at him, though. Because he did. A lot. He tried not too. He tried to pay attention in class, not to look for a blond head in the hallway, not to sneak glances at Arthur’s table at lunch. Really, he tried.  
  
The thing was, he didn’t understand any of it, and it drove him up the wall. He didn’t know what it meant, all of Arthur’s touches. He couldn’t reconcile the way his hands were so gentle and the way they had grabbed at him that time in the pool. That time that changed everything. Merlin wanted to understand so badly. He stayed awake at night and thought of things he could tell Arthur the next time he went to watch movies at Morgana’s, but never found a way to say them. He really didn’t know what to do.  
  
He didn’t know.  
  
So he went on with his days—hung out with Gwen, Freya, and Will, played too many video games and tried to avoid his mom’s curious glances every time she caught him looking blankly into space, thinking.  
  
He only got shoved into the lockers twice. Will got a week worth of detention for punching Oswald the second time it happened. Merlin always waited for him before going home with him.  
  
Valiant, Ethan, and Oswald left him alone after that. Merlin would have been surprised to learn it was because of Will. Maybe Arthur really did talk to the coach, or maybe it just wasn’t as easy as they had hoped anymore and they had just given up. Either way, Merlin was glad for their lack of perseverance.

The Christmas holidays finally arrived. Merlin loved Christmas. Every December he helped his mum put the lights on their house, and they went out and bought a tree. They decorated it together while listening to Frank Sinatra’s, and Bing Crosby’s Christmas albums. Will sometimes came over and pretended to roll his eyes at the music, while still silently mouthing the words to the songs when he thought Merlin and Hunith weren’t looking. Hunith would pat him on the cheek, and give him cookies, and let him fake-grumble in the living room chair while he stuffed his face with her baking.  
  
They put up white fairy lights all over their yellow kitchen, which was filled with the constant smells of cookies, cakes, cinnamon, and things roasting and boiling, and Merlin didn’t know what else. They were the best smells in the world. It might have been winter, it might have been grey and cold outside—sometimes white, if they were lucky—but inside their house it was always warm, always colourful. This year, Merlin was even more grateful. The lights and sounds and smells of his house, Will’s yelling at the TV and at stupid Christmas movies they watched every year, made the blue and green shadows retreat. He was dry. He was safe. He was content—not weighted down by wanting and desiring and not-understanding. He was just Merlin. Just Merlin. The one he knew, understood, and liked being.  
  
On Christmas morning he walked in the living room, bleary-eyed and still half asleep. His mum greeted him with a kiss on the head and they sat side by side on the sofa to drink their customary hot chocolates and watch _A Charlie Brown Christmas_. Then they had buttered home-made bread with jam.  
  
As they were finishing their breakfast—after a truly awful but quite heartfelt rendition of _Let it Snow_ —Hunith pushed a small box toward him across the table, all wrapped in bright red paper and gold ribbons. Merlin took it gingerly in his hands. Every gift his mother gave him was precious because they didn’t have that much money, and he knew that sometimes she put money aside for most of the year just to buy him something for his birthday or Christmas. Things that were not necessary, that were just for fun.  
  
Merlin tore away the paper. He held in his hand a box containing a small, red netbook.  
  
“Mom… this is—wow.”  
  
Merlin didn’t have his own computer. He shared their clearly outdated but still vaguely decent dinosaur of a PC with his mom, or used Will’s computer instead.  
  
“I know you can’t do much with this,” Hunith said. “I mean, you can’t really play games or anything, but I thought you could use it as a diary of some sort.”  
  
Merlin looked at her. “A diary?”  
  
Hunith sighed, and grabbed Merlin’s hands in her own over the cheery Christmas tablecloth.  
  
“Merlin, I know things haven’t been… easy, since last summer. And I don’t expect you to tell me everything,though I wish you would. I can see you, sometimes, just thinking. You were never really good at hiding your emotions that much, and well… you think so much for a boy your age, probably more than you should. I thought that maybe... maybe writing your thoughts down would help you. You feel _so much_ , Merlin, you always have. You have to put it down somewhere, find an outlet, and I thought maybe you could use this. It’s small enough to carry in your bag, like a paper journal, except I thought it would be better. Not many of you young people write with pen and paper anymore anyway.”  
  
Merlin was speechless, just looking at their joined hands on the table, a lump in his throat.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be a diary either,” Hunith added. “It could be stories too, if you prefer. You’ve always been good at making stories up.”  
  
Merlin looked up at her. The world was blurry shapes of red and gold and green and blue, and he brushed absentmindedly at the water in his eyes. He got up and hugged his mum. “I love it mum. Thank you.”  
  
Hunith just hugged him back.  
  
Later on, as his mum was making their dinner, Merlin sat at the table and stared at a blank page opened on his netbook. He didn’t know where to start or what to say, his head a jumble of ideas and words, his fingers weighted down by all the things left unsaid that lived in a tightly knotted community in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know how to coax them out. So instead he just wrote about the kitchen where he was sitting, and his mom, and the colours and shadows the lights casted on the walls. It was better than nothing and unexpectedly comforting.  
  
Some time in the evening, Will and Freya came over to wish him Merry Christmas. They ate more pastries and called Gwen’s mobile. They sang truly awful carols to cheer her up from a boring family dinner at her grandma’s house. Freya actually had a nice voice, but both her and Merlin were completely drowned by Will’s bellowing, which had Gwen clearly trying not to laugh too much or too loud over the line. After that, the three of them sprawled themselves on the floor partly under the Christmas tree—smelling the sharp and comforting smell of it, blinking slightly at the soft brightness of the lights, mesmerized by the shiftings reflections in the ornaments, their distorted images. Merlin pretended not to see how Will’s pinkie finger was brushing lightly against the back of Freya’s hand, and how she didn’t move her hand away. He thought he could maybe write about it later, and smiled. There was something, finally, that he wouldn’t have to leave unsaid.


	2. Chapter 2

Morgana called him a few days after Christmas to invite him to her New Year’s party. She said that Will and Freya were also invited and that it would be a smaller party than on Halloween, just some of their close friends.  
  
So on New year’s Eve, he found himself sprawled on one of the sofas in Morgana and Arthur’s large living room, laughing hysterically at Gwaine and Gwen trying to up each other at Guitar Hero (Gwen surprised everyone by being extremely good at it. Merlin didn’t even know she played that much). It was good. It was really good, actually.   
  
The front driveway was like an ice rink when they went outside. It had rained during the day, a cold, icy rain that had frozen over as soon as the sun went down. They were all wrapped in their coats, skidding over the ice with laughs and high-pitched screams as they tried to avoid falling over. The night was dark with low clouds promising more rain, maybe even snow. The only light came from the gentle glow of the small lamp posts along the path’s edges, making the icicles clinging to them glitter and shimmer softly. Merlin broke one off, putting it to his lips like a cigarette—like he used to do when he was young. He liked the way the ice felt against his lips, against his tongue.  
  
“That’s rather disgusting _Mer_ lin,” a voice said close to his ear.  
  
Merlin startled with a yelp and twisted around fast, his feet skidding on the uneven frozen ground until a strong hand reached out and grabbed his coat, steadying him. It was Arthur’s eyes that met his, laughing and smirking. Of course it was Arthur. Merlin took a step back, forcing Arthur to let go of his coat, and tried to catch his breath. Even in the dark, Arthur’s eyes were piercing blue, and he wasn’t even surprised when he tasted the tang of chlorine at the back of his throat. Merlin had dropped the icicle on the ground where it had shattered in tiny pieces at their feet. He crushed one of them under his boot, grounding himself.  
  
Arthur was just looking at him without saying anything, hands back in his coat pockets. The others were a bit further ahead. Merlin could make out Gwaine, Leon, and Will singing bawdy songs, and some of the girls laughing, until Elena’s clear voice joined the song, surprising them all. It made Merlin laugh, and Arthur chuckled.  
  
“I bet she knows more dirty songs and jokes than all of us combined,” Arthur said, starting to walk. Merlin fell into step with him.  
  
“Will learns all of his by listening to his father when he has friends over. They think he’s in his room sleeping or playing video games, but I don’t think they realise how loud they are,” Merlin said softly, still trying to work past the lump in his throat, only looking at Arthur from the corner of his eyes.  
  
Arthur snorted. “I don’t want to know where Elena learns all of hers. She has no brothers, her dad is all about propriety and is as conservative as they come, and her mother is a total snob. I have no idea how she isn’t the most boring person on the planet.”  
  
Merlin just shrugged. Maybe it was just Elena’s way of dealing. Maybe she felt stifled at home and was acting out. Who knew? He said so without thinking, looking up at the sky. He could understand that feeling somehow, that desire of being what you wanted to be and not what others wanted you to be. Or just being contrary for the sake of being contrary, because you didn’t want people to assume anything of you. He could understand that, too.  
  
Arthur stopped walking and Merlin turned around. He had a strange look on his face—confused, and pondering.  
  
Merlin bit his lips. He hadn’t really wanted to say all that out loud. It’s just... he was so happy. The night had been great. The air was full of his friends’ laughter, and for one short moment he forgot that he was talking to Arthur, the boy he loved—the boy he wanted, but couldn’t have, the one that had pushed him away, that made his insides go tight and his skin shrink and the world turn blue and green and taste like pool water. It had just been Merlin and Arthur, friends. Or possibly friends. Maybe.  
  
“Sorry,” Merlin mumbled. Though he didn’t know exactly what he was sorry for. Maybe for making the moment heavier. He seemed to make things heavier all the time.  
  
Arthur just rolled his eyes. “You truly are the most melodramatic person I know,” he said with a huff, catching up to Merlin. “Soon you’ll be writing poems about death and wearing black like those ridiculously sad teenagers in Morgana’s movies.”  
  
“Will not!”  
  
“Oh please,” Arthur replied, mocking. “I can see it already. You’ll be all sad and stuff and doodle dark lyrics and pictures in the margins of your notebooks, and listen to whatever crappy music people who are dark and sad listen to, and cry to everybody that no one understands you.”  
  
Now it was Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes.  
  
“And what will you be then, Mr. I’m-so-perfect? The stupid jock that gets bad grades, but that everyone indulges because he’s the captain of the team and wins championships and goes out with the prettiest girl in school, while shoving art kids like me into their lockers?”  
  
Merlin was laughing at the idiocy of it all, but Arthur suddenly grabbed his arm. “I would never do that,” he said, low and maybe a tiny bit angry.  
  
Merlin realised that Arthur thought he meant… _that_. That he would shove Merlin because of… well… _that_.  
  
“Oh no! I didn’t mean—I know you wouldn’t! I just meant like in those movies, yeah? Like all the sports kids and the art kids hating each other and stuff. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean… _that._ ”  
  
Arthur let go of him and smiled.  
  
“Sorry, yeah. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Let’s catch up to the others, yeah? Come on!”  
  
He grabbed the bottom of Merlin’s coat and pulled him along. His laughter filled the winter air, clear and bright. Merlin took a deep breath, and plunged once more.

That night he opened his netbook and made a list of all the times Arthur had touched him. He didn’t really need to keep a catalogue of it, though. He could feel them all still, all across his body. He could feel Arthur’s hand in his hair, and his finger on his left knee and on his cheekbone, soft and gentle. He could feel the brush of his finger against the, now healed, bruise on his side. The tight, secure, grip around his elbow, the heat of his hand against his arm even through the winter coat. He could feel his lips against his. Like Arthur was imprinting himself on him, one little touch at a time.  
  
Merlin snorted at himself before closing his computer. Maybe he really was a bit too melodramatic.

In February, Merlin caught mononucleosis.  
  
He stayed out of school for two months. At first he was too sick with fever, swollen lymph glands, and all that lovely stuff. Then he was just so bloody tired _all. the. time_. Merlin’s uncle, Gaius, who was a retired school teacher, offered to tutor him. Gwen brought him all the syllabi and homework, and he went go to school only if he had important tests to do.  
  
It sucked.  
  
Three weeks in, he was getting cabin fever, always in his room, or splayed out on the sofa in the living room, trying to study, falling asleep constantly. Once the fever was gone, Will, Gwen and Freya visited him frequently, but all they could really do was watch TV or play video games. Sometimes Will stayed over for the night, but really, Merlin wasn’t great company. Morgana came by several times as well.  
  
It was really hard not to fall behind on his course work, but Merlin was determined not to repeat the year, so he applied himself as best he could. His grades did drop a little, but his teachers were indulgent and he didn’t flunk anything, so as far as he was concerned that was all good.  
  
He missed his birthday. Slept right through it and couldn’t even eat a full piece of cake that his mum had made for him. The good thing was he felt too much like shite to ponder the ramifications and implications of being fourteen, which was probably a good thing, in the end.  
  
In March, Gwen got the flu and couldn’t bring him his homework for a few days, so Will took over the responsibility, which, of course, he was terrible at.  
  
It wasn’t rare for Merlin to take prolonged naps during the day. He’d work a bit in the morning, studying with Uncle Gaius, then he’d sleep some more, and work again until bedtime. One evening he woke up late after dinner and dragged himself out of bed to try and work on some of his maths homework. He sat at his desk and stared blankly at his netbook until his eyes focused and his mind registered that there was a document opened with a note typed on it.

Merlin,

Will forgot to get your English homework today, so I brought it to you. You were sleeping, so I left it on your desk.

Mr. Jones says you can have more time for the essay, since you were not in class for the discussions.

Feel better soon,

Arthur.

p.s. Don’t worry I didn’t snoop around :)

p.p.s. You are seriously terrible at maths, mate.

  
Merlin gaped at his screen for a minute or two, then banged his head on his desk, not sure if he was relieved or not to have missed Arthur. He was absolutely mortified that Arthur had been there in his room while Merlin was sleeping, all blotchy and clammy skin, the smell of sickness everywhere.  
  
He saved the document twice, just to make sure. Then he panicked and flailed for a minute and closed the document to see what was opened on his netbook before Arthur opened a new document. With a sigh he saw that nothing else had been opened. His relief was so big, it made him dizzy. He looked at his maths homework on his desk and found it plastered with post-its notes, correcting every single equation he had done wrong. He scratched at his arms and neck, and tried to take deep breaths. Arthur had sat here, at his desk, and corrected the whole of his homework, while Merlin was sleeping in his bed, not two metres away.  
  
The thought made him hard. It mixed with the sickness and the tiredness and he felt nauseous.  
  
He tossed off quickly, eyes tightly closed, one hand splayed over the notes on his desk.  
  
When he was done, he cleaned himself, quickly corrected his homework and put all of the post-it notes in a book on his shelf. He felt silly and light-headed.  
  
He went back to bed.  
  
The water inside his chest swished around noisily as he twisted and turned, trying to fall asleep. _Bloody Arthur_.  
  
As far as he knew that was the only time Arthur came to see him.

The rest for the school year passed liked a blur. He just focused on the work he had to catch up on.  
  
He wrote three (absolutely rubbish) stories before the end of the year and tried his hand at poetry, though he promised himself that he would never tell Arthur that. Not that he and Arthur were sharing any kind of secrets or anything. But still. He made it a point to try and make them happy poems. Just to be contrary.

He didn’t go to Arthur’s 14th birthday in July. He couldn’t face it.  
  
He spent the whole day lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling replaying the last year in his mind. It really was when it all started. A year ago. Merlin kissing Arthur in his pool on his birthday. The catalyst.  
  
One year, and Merlin could remember it like it was yesterday. Could smell Arthur, could see the way the sun had shone on him, the glittering of the water droplets on his skin, the slight raise of his goosebumps, the taste the water had in his mouth. Everything. And if he was completely honest with himself, he still felt like he was drowning most of the time in all these feelings that he didn’t understand any better than he did a year ago. If anything, some things had just become more confusing, more surreal, or too real, or twisted or… oh anything really, more ungraspable.  
  
He rubbed at his face.  
  
Merlin decided that this summer he would learn to swim properly. Literally. And maybe add some black to his wardrobe. Just because.

Every other day that summer Merlin went to the municipal pool to swim.  
  
At first he was scared that he would meet some people from his class or year. That he would look ridiculous, flailing about in the water—trying not to panic, not to sink, gripping with too tight knuckles to the sides. But he figured out quickly that if he went early in the morning, there were only some classes for seniors and that he could just simply swim at his leisure in the deep end, without anybody paying much attention to him, except for the young woman lifeguard. Which he was grateful for. All he needed was time. Time to not feel so nervous when he was in the water, to find how to move his limbs properly. Time to not find the sight of the blue-green water foreboding.  
  
By mid-August he was able to swim quite well, actually. He didn’t have to hold the side of the pool anymore. He also didn’t mind diving from the lowest board and swimming to the ladder, his head underwater. One day a nice lady even showed him how to front crawl properly and he was now able to do several laps in the pool without panicking.  
  
He also forced himself to stay underwater as long as he could, sometimes without moving, just holding on to the side or the ladder. He almost never swallowed water and he did make it way over ten seconds thank you very much. When he came back from swimming he liked to record in his netbook the number of laps he had done, and how many seconds he had been able to hold his breath.  
  
His skin smelled like chlorine most of the time, even after washing, but he never minded.

“I received an email from Morgana, yesterday. They’re coming back in a week,” Gwen said, wrapping her arms around her knees.  
  
“So?” Will shrugged.  
  
“I just… I’ve missed her, that’s all,” Gwen said. “She said she missed us too.”  
  
Will snorted. “Yeah, it must be  so hard to spend most of your summer in a fucking Italian villa.”  
  
“It is when you don’t know anybody,” Gwen replied. “She sent me tons of emails about how she and Arthur had to go to all of these places with Mr. Pendragon’s friends, like official functions and everything, and that it was really boring. She said she liked the museums though, but that Arthur hated them, but he liked the Roman ruins.”  
  
“Good for him,” Will said dryly. “I bet he got to snog some pretty Italian birds, the pillock.”  
  
“Dunno.” Gwen shrugged. “Morgana did though.”  
  
“Snog girls?”  
  
“No, I meant she got to do some snogging, you idiot.”  
  
“Go Morgana!”  
  
Merlin smiled. The three of them were sitting on the garage roof of Gwen’s house. It was past dinner and the sun was slowly going down bathing everything in orange and purple light. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and made the sweat on Merlin’s arms and back chill. He shivered slightly.  
  
This had been their spot all summer. It was quiet. Gwen’s father worked a lot and was rarely there, so they could do pretty much everything they wanted. There was shade from the tree beside the garage during the day, and it was flat enough to lie down and look at the sky at night. Nobody could really eavesdropped on them. They slept there more than once when the weather had made it too hot to sleep inside comfortably.  
  
Will took out a small packet of fags from his back pocket. He lit one, took a long drag, choked on the smoke, frowned at the cigarette, shrugged, and did it again. Gwen just wrinkled her nose. Merlin rolled his eyes.  
  
“You’re gross,” Gwen said.   
  
“Whatever,” Will replied. “Want one?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Suit yourself. Merlin?”  
  
“No thanks, mate.” Merlin said. He had tried one with Will earlier in the summer, late at night in the park. It had burned his lungs so bad, and he was almost sick. He wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. Also, Will had been a giant arse about it, even though he wasn’t much better at the whole thing.  
  
There was a knock on the window, before it opened, and Elyan and Percival climbed through. It wasn’t the first time that Gwen’s brother and Percy joined them. After all, the window did lead to Elyan’s bedroom, and Merlin thought it was actually really nice of him to let his sister and her friends just come and go through as they pleased.  
  
Elyan sat close to Gwen, his long legs stretched in front of him. Percy sat on the other side of him, tall and broad. At sixteen, Percival was probably the tallest bloke at school already.   
  
Merlin stopped listening when he saw Percival’s fingers wrapped lightly around Elyan’s, where they were resting on the roof. Somehow, the sight of it—so simple, so casual—made Merlin’s chest grow tight. Impossibly tight. His whole skin started itching again, something that hadn’t happened almost all summer. His throat was dry.  
  
He caught Percy looking at him with a small smile, if a bit sad. Merlin tried to smile back, though it felt forced. Percy shrugged lightly.  
  
Merlin saw Will open his mouth to say one of his—undoubtedly inappropriate—remarks, so he leaned forward before he could do so and snatched his cigarette from between his fingers, effectively cutting short whatever rubbish he was about to say.  
  
“Oi! You wanker! You said you didn’t want any!”  
  
Merlin took a quick drag, before Will took the cigarette back and just rolled his eyes at him. Will grumbled and started ranting at him, everything about boys holding hands forgotten. Merlin snickered. Distracting Will had always been too easy.  
  
“Hey Freya!” Gwen called, interrupting Will’s tirade.  
  
Freya was coming up the street, her hands deep in her jeans’ pockets, her brown hair shining copper in the light of the setting sun. Freya smiled and waved before making her way up Gwen’s driveway and into the house to join them. Will took a long drag on his cigarette and fought another cough.  
  
“So,” he said, trying to be casual, but Merlin wasn’t fooled for one second. “How hard do you think I would get slapped if I kissed Freya?”

Some time during last year, when he was stuck between being wary of Arthur and wanting to hold him always—between Arthur’s soft touches and them not talking, and not really knowing each other on a personal level, when Merlin’s wanting was always seeking, always wrapping itself around Arthur as soon as it had the chance—he had pretty much given up on his skin ever fitting his bones properly and not feeling like it was suffocating him all the time.  
  
He had also come to the possible conclusion that the universe wasn’t fair, and that it did not make sense ,and that maybe it liked to fuck with him a bit too much. He wasn’t sure if that was something he should have realised a long time ago or not, but he certainly got the message loud and clear when he saw Arthur Pendragon come down the hallway on the first day of school.  
  
Merlin hated the universe.  
  
Arthur had had a growth spurt during the summer, and somehow had started filling out in width as well (something that Merlin seemed absolutely unable to do, his body stretching up up up, but never in any other direction). Spending weeks under the Italian sun had made his hair even more golden, almost white, and his skin was tanned and glowing—a stark contrast against the white and marine blue of their uniform. The light from the windows bounced through the air on the blue-grey lockers and the mass of marine and white fabric, and made Arthur’s hair positively shine, his eyes piercing and pale blue like the sky.  
  
Merlin’s bones groaned, his veins trembled, his lungs collapsed, and the pool in his chest became an ocean, just like that.  
  
Just as he had learned to navigate the moving turquoise shadows and the chlorine-tasting waters living in his chest, he was now stuck in a blue-grey ocean, with waves crashing over his head. _Fantastic_.

He was studying in the library. Or, well, he was trying to. He was supposed to be working on his maths homework. He had almost failed his last exam, and he really, _really_ needed to understand this so he could get a good grade on the next one to make up for it. But the whole thing was so frustrating, he couldn’t help himself. He took his netbook out and started re-writing some parts of a story he was working on.  
  
His mother had been right. He _loved_ telling stories. Writing them was harder than making them up on the spot while they were driving around in his mum’s car, but he liked it nonetheless. It was comforting. Sometimes he wrote some more personal stuff too. He made a lot of lists. _A lot_. Things to remember, things that should stay forgotten, simple observations. Things that shouldn’t matter, but mattered too much. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but it helped keeping his head a bit freer of clutter.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Merlin startled and closed his netbook quickly. Bloody Arthur, always surprising him. “Don’t do that!” he said.  
  
Arthur just rolled his eyes and sat in front of him. He reached out to grabbed Merlin’s netbook before Merlin could stop him, and opened it.  
  
“What’s this then? You always have it with you. It was on your desk when I brought you your homework last year.” Arthur frowned when he saw, Merlin guessed, the screen asking for a password. Merlin had put one on the day after Arthur had left a note on it. There was no way he was letting anybody read any of what he had written on there. No way.  
  
“It’s just my netbook. My mum gave it to me last Christmas,” Merlin said.  
  
“I can see that _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said, looking at him like he was stupid. “But why are you always typing on it for? You doing your homework or something?”  
  
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t really told anyone about his writing and lists and, yes, poems. None of his friends really bothered him about it. Merlin had given them the half-hearted shrug he gave when he really didn’t feel like talking about something, and they hadn’t pushed that much. Well, Will had pushed a bit more, but had given up after a while mostly because he never wanted people to think he actually cared.  
  
“Yeah,” Merlin said, “homework or something.”  
  
Arthur looked at him for a few seconds before sliding the netbook back to him across the table, and then grabbed Merlin’s homework.  
  
“God, do you always just touch everything that isn’t yours?” Merlin exclaimed without thinking.  
  
Arthur just smiled and took a quick look at the homework.  
  
“You really, really are rubbish at this, aren’t you?” he said. Merlin groaned and snatched back his book.  
  
“Shut up. We can’t all be good at everything like you.”  
  
Arthur looked a little surprised, and cocked his head to the side, confused. “I’m not good at everything—”   
  
Merlin snorted. “Please. You have good grades, you’re really good at sports, you’re rich and you’re gorg—” Merlin stopped, biting his lip. Arthur’s eyes twinkled and he smirked.  
  
“Were you about to say I was gorgeous?” he asked.  
  
“No!” Oh, Merlin wanted him to leave now. He wanted Arthur to be gone, to go away already, and _please please please stop smiling like that you utter infuriating prat_! His face was red, he just knew it. If the Earth ever thought it would be a good idea to swallow him, now would be a good time.  
  
Arthur just smiled at him a bit more, but eventually just waved a hand in front of him, dismissing the subject.  
  
“Actually,” he said, a bit more serious now. “Actually. I… um… I have problems in English.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Arthur shifted on his chair, looking at his hands on the table, fidgeting. Merlin realised that it was actually hard for him to admit to that. He didn’t see the big deal. Everybody was rubbish at something. In fact, Merlin was rubbish at many things: maths, sports, getting up in the morning, cooking... talking sense when a certain boy was around. Absolute rubbish.  
  
“Yeah. Um… I understand the material and all, but I can’t write proper essays. Like… like I know what I want to say, but I can never put it in the format that the teacher wants. It’s just like a bit jumbled on the paper. And my grammar is not that great either.”  
  
“Oh. Sorry?”  
  
“Yeah, well…” Arthur cleared his throat, then pushed back his shoulders and sat straighter. Merlin tried to avoid looking at him, and at how his muscles moved under his white shirt.  
  
“How about this,” Arthur said, a small smirk back on his face. Merlin thought that this could probably be his default expression: kind and cocky at the same time. “I help you in maths, you help me in English. Everybody’s happy.”  
  
Merlin’s heart lurched. Shit. His brain scrambled to make some sense, _no no no no no no no no no no no_ he wanted to say, _absolutely not_ , he should say and then,  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
“Great!” Arthur slammed his hands on the table. “How about we start now, clearly you need help with this homework, and after we can have a look at my draft for the essay due next week.” It wasn’t really a question.  
  
Arthur moved around the table to sit beside Merlin. Merlin tried to subtly put a bit more space between them. He had to grab his pencil hard in his fist to avoid scratching at his arms and throat.  
  
“Why are you here so late anyway?” Arthur asked, eyes glued to Merlin’s maths equations.  
  
“Oh. I’m waiting for Will to get out of detention.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “Do that often, do you?”  
  
“You have no idea.”  
  
It was only later on that night, after replaying the whole discussion in his mind, after going over and over again on how Arthur’s arm had felt leaning against his as he explained an equation, how his breath had ghosted over his cheek as he leaned across him to grab the calculator, and how his voice made Merlin’s insides dance a very rhythmic, very primal dance. How he had thrown his head back and laughed when Merlin made a joke about his English paper, and how he smelled, as always, like soap and grass and sunshine-salt. It was only much later, that Merlin asked himself how Arthur knew that he always wrote on his netbook. And then spent half the night wondering, and, against his better judgement, hoping.

“So. You and Pendragon. What’s up with that?”  
  
“Nothing’s up, Will. He’s helping me in maths, I’m helping him in English. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong with that.”  
  
“Buuuut?”  
  
“He’s a fucking pillock, Merlin.”  
  
“He’s not that bad, Will. Stop being an arse.”  
  
“No, but yeah, he really is. All arrogant and posh and rich. Thinks he’s better than everybody else.”  
  
“You don’t dislike somebody just because they’re rich, that’s stupid.”  
  
“It’s a matter of principle, Merlin.”  
  
“Your principles are dumb. Besides, you don’t dislike Morgana and she’s as rich as him.”  
  
“Yeah, well, she’s a girl and she’s gorgeous. And scary. I like it.”  
  
“Ugh. You’re gross. I’ll tell Freya you said that.”  
  
“Shut up loser, I know you just want to get into Pendragon’s pants anyway.”  
  
“Not everyone thinks about sex all the time, you know.”  
  
“Whatever. It’s your turn to play, you twat.”  
  
“You are a terrible person and don’t let my mum hear you speak like that.”

Arthur was sitting at Merlin’s desk correcting the mock exam Merlin had just finished, while Merlin was lying on his stomach on his bed going over Arthur’s final draft of his essay. They usually worked in the library twice a week or so, but exams were coming up and they thought that going home to study would be a better idea. Merlin, after an internal battle of epic proportion, had invited Arthur to his house. He lived closer to school anyway, and he knew his mother wouldn’t mind and would make them dinner.  
  
Arthur hadn’t even called home to tell his dad he wouldn’t be there. Merlin found that strangely sad.  
  
Being around Arthur was getting easier. Somewhat. He still felt tight and wrong in his skin. He sometimes had to sit on his hands or grip the seam of his trousers in tight fists to avoid reaching out and touching Arthur by brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead, or tracing one of his cheekbones, or gripping his hands that kept moving and fidgeting as he explained something.  
  
It was still hard to breathe.  
  
But Merlin’s body seemed to have gotten used to the proximity—his bones settling into a new arrangement instead of straining to expand. The ocean that was his chest, calm under a cloudless sky, the tides rushing, always, but steady. He had made his lower lip bleed several times by biting it too much, though. Arthur had this habit of always leaning close, of looking over Merlin’s shoulder as he did a problem, of squeezing it when he got it right. Arthur’s hands were always moving, always touching, always kind.  
  
It made it very hard to focus.  
  
Merlin startled (again) when Arthur sat beside him on the edge of the bed.  
  
“You only got three wrong, as far as I can see,” he said with a big, happy smile, showing Merlin his paper. “You should ace the exam mate.”  
  
“That’s… that’s great. Thanks.”  
  
Arthur just shrugged and leaned over Merlin to look at his essay, resting on one of his hands, brushing Merlin’s side with his fingers in the process. Merlin fisted his bedspread and forced himself to not move away from the accidental touch even though _he should he should he should_.  
  
“How’s my essay?”  
  
Merlin cleared his throat, forced some air into his absolutely unreliable lungs. “It’s… it’s actually quite good. You hit all your arguments in the right order and explained them clearly. There are a few grammatical mistakes and spelling mistakes, but overall it’s—it’s good.”  
  
Merlin was almost completely sure that Arthur hadn’t realised that he was moving his fingers (always moving, always touching) very lightly along Merlin’s side. He probably absentmindedly thought he was fidgeting the bedspread instead of Merlin’s shirt. Then Arthur moved and _put his hand on Merlin’s lower back_ , so he could lean forward more and grabbed his essay from Merlin’s hands and have a look at it. It, almost quite literally he was sure, _burned_.  
  
Merlin stood up as fast as he could without making it look like he was running away. Boiling, water under his skin, everywhere. He was sure his face was red, he was sweating too much.  
  
“I’ll just—I’ll go see if dinner is almost ready,” he mumbled and left his room quickly.  
  
In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and tried to breathe normally. Why was he reacting that way all the time? It’s not like Arthur had groped him or anything. Not like they had kissed. _Oh god don’t think about kissing Arthur_.  
  
He just wanted to be Arthur’s friend. They _were_ becoming friends, he thought. He couldn’t go and ruin it all by letting his wanting get the better of him. It would have been so easy earlier, with Arthur sitting beside him like that, to just turn his body and put his head in Arthur’s lap, maybe bury his face in his side. Just that. Just a hug.  
  
His mum knocked on the door to let him know dinner was ready and to wash his hands.  
  
When Merlin got back to his room, Arthur was looking at his video games, DVDs and books.  
  
“Um, dinner is ready,” Merlin said.  
  
“Which one is your favourite?” Arthur pointed at the books.  
  
“Which one? Oh, um, _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. I think.”  
  
Arthur picked it off the shelf and thumbed through it. “Can I borrow it?”  
  
Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you liked reading.”  
  
Arthur just rolled his eyes. “What, just because I like playing football more?” But he smiled at Merlin, unguarded and maybe a bit hopeful, and Merlin couldn't help smiling back.  
  
“Sure,” he said. Arthur beamed at him, like Merlin had just given him the best present ever.  
  
“Thanks, mate!” Arthur put the book in his bag and walked past him toward the kitchen. Merlin followed, confused, but mostly happy.

One morning toward the end of the term, Elyan and Percy arrived at school holding hands. People seemed surprised, whispering and pointing, but Merlin was happy to see that most didn’t even bat an eye. Elyan and Percival just acted like it was nothing, like it was the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it was, or should be, Merlin thought.  
  
Merlin watched them go to their friends, slapping their backs, exchanging jokes. They probably got teased a bit, if the red on Percival’s cheeks and the way Elyan was rubbing at the back of his head, were any indication. Merlin guessed it helped when you were the tallest, biggest bloke in school and that insulting you—or your boyfriend—would just result in a spectacular punch in the face.  
  
“Elyan told us last week,” Gwen said leaning against the lockers beside Merlin’s. “I think Dad gave him the whole sex talk too. You should have seen their faces when they came out of Dad’s office, I died laughing.”  
  
Merlin chuckled. He was happy for them, but he could not stop the giant wave of longing that washed over him at seeing them so at ease, so happy together, just a bit sheepish, a bit shy. He wondered how long they had been together. Gwen told him last year she thought they were dating. Had they been keeping it a secret all this time?  
  
How did it feel to be able to breathe so freely?  
  
Percival winked at him when he walked by and Merlin just smiled. This was good. Yes.  
  
As he turned he saw Arthur on the other side of the hallway looking at him, a serious look on his face, brows furrowed. It was the same look he had when he tackled a maths problem or tried to understand something Merlin was explaining. Merlin looked back, not sure Arthur was actually seeing him, too lost in his thoughts—blue shadows dancing in his eyes, in the air, pulling _pulling_ at Merlin.  
  
Merlin bit his lip and wince as it split again, tasting blood on his tongue.

“I really liked it” Arthur said sliding _The Hitchhiker’s Guide_ toward Merlin across the library table and sitting in the chair beside him. “It was hilarious.”  
  
“You did?” Merlin said, warmth spreading through his stomach. He bit his lip. “Maybe… maybe you would like _Good Omens_ , then. It’s funny too. If you want something else to read.”  
  
“Do you like it?” Arthur opened his maths book and grabbed Merlin’s homework to take a look at what he had done so far.  
  
“Yeah. It’s really, really good. It’s like written by these two authors, Pratchett and Gaiman, and I like them a lot. They’re hilarious, and they, like, build these awesome worlds and really cool characters. They’re just really good at telling stories, you know?”  
  
Merlin was getting excited. He was moving his hands and had twisted in his chair to face Arthur. Arthur just smiled at him. Merlin blushed.  
  
“Okay then,” he said standing up.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“Just going to see if the library has _Good Omens_ so I can borrow it. I’ll be right back.”

That winter Will got suspended three days for punching a guy in the face and getting into a fight. When asked why he did it he wouldn’t say anything, but told Merlin later—while they were both lying in the dark of Merlin’s room, with only the faint orange glow of the street lamp coming through the curtains—that it was because the arsehole had mocked Freya’s stutter.  
  
Freya was clever, sharp-minded, and funny too, but she stuttered a bit, enough that it was noticeable anyway. It never bothered any of them, and if they ever teased her she’d just roll her eyes and punch them on the shoulder. Merlin knew she felt self-conscious about it sometimes. Will knew too. And Will, though he would never really admit to it—because apparently showing feelings was against his code, or something—never let anyone get away with insulting or mocking the people he cared about. He was just hot-tempered enough that punching somebody seemed like a better option than yelling insults at them, or, god forbid, walking away.  
  
Will’s father was furious when he came to pick him up, and Merlin rushed home after school to unlock his bedroom window. Will’d crawl in eventually. He hadn’t realised he had forgotten his meeting with Arthur until he opened the front door and saw him shuffling his feet slightly on his doorstep.  
  
“Hey,” he said with an awkward hand wave that made Merlin frown because an awkward Arthur was unusual.  
  
“Oh shit! Arthur, I’m sorry. I forgot. Um, Will got into a fight and—”  
  
“Yeah, I heard.”  
  
“Just… come in. Do you want to study here then?” Merlin said moving aside.  
  
Arthur nodded and walked to Merlin’s bedroom. Merlin stopped by the kitchen to grab some snacks. In his room, Arthur was sitting on the edge of his bed, his leg shaking, his bag unopened at his feet. Merlin’s frown deepened.  
  
“Arthur, are you alright?”  
  
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m...”  
  
Merlin set the snacks on his desk. Arthur was distracted and jumpy, nervous even. Arthur was never nervous.  
  
“Okay, well, I have your draft in my bag. I looked it over during my free period, let me just—”  
  
“Why did you forget?” Arthur was looking everywhere in the room but at Merlin. Merlin sat in his desk chair, and tried to understand what was going on. Was Arthur angry with him for not telling him? He didn’t look angry, but then again Merlin had never seen him angry before. Maybe an angry Arthur looked like a nervous Arthur. He bit at his lips more. He didn’t know that Arthur. Arthur was confident and a bit of a prat. He was arrogant and boastful, but kind too. It made Merlin nervous, to see him like this. For a brief moment he saw blue-green shadows in front of him, and felt himself floating in them.  
  
“Look, Arthur,” he said slowly, carefully. “I’m sorry, yeah? Really sorry. I just—when something goes bad with Will, I always leave my window unlocked and he comes later on and we play video games or something. It’s just… it’s something we’ve done since we were young. His dad he’s… well, he’s pretty okay, but Will hates to stay there after they fight, especially since…”  
  
Merlin stopped. He was sure Will would hate for him to tell Arthur about his mum. He left it unsaid, like so many other things. Arthur was looking at him. There was a strange stillness to his body, even his hands were motionless in his lap.  
  
“Do you… do you like Will?” he said after a moment, soft and hesitant.  
  
Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Course, I do. He’s my best mate. I’ve known him for ages.”  
  
Arthur frowned. “It’s not—it’s just—Why did he get into a fight anyway?”  
  
Merlin shrugged. “Not sure. Haven’t talked to him yet. I know he’s been suspended for three days, though. I know his dad is going to be livid. Was pretty pissed off, apparently, when he came to pick him up at school.”  
  
Arthur said nothing.  
  
“Are you angry?” Merlin asked, uncertain. “You’re acting… weird.”  
  
Arthur looked confused and, yes, a bit angry now, and Merlin didn’t know what to do or say. He waited for Arthur to say something. Arthur seemed to shake himself from whatever was troubling him—or making him angry, or whatever else he was thinking that Merlin couldn’t understand—rubbed his face with his hands, and finally, _finally_ , offered Merlin one of his usual smiles, bright, if a bit strained at the corners.  
  
“Sorry, got lots on my mind that’s all. Let’s just study, okay?” He said, sitting on the floor and opening his bag. Merlin just grabbed his own books and sat in front of him.  
  
Within ten minutes they were back to normal: Arthur was teasing Merlin about his poor skills in maths, Merlin was telling him to shut up and please just explain the bloody problem already. Arthur’s hands were back to their ever-moving, frantic fidgeting. Stillness did not suit Arthur well, it felt wrong on him. Foreign.

It rained on Merlin’s birthday, as usual. His mum made her usual joke about how the world felt sad just like her at seeing her little boy slowly become a man, slipping away from her, becoming his own person, branching out into this big universe. Merlin just groaned and buried his face in his arms with a painful whine, because that never stopped being embarrassing somehow. Hunith laughed before putting a plate full of pancakes in front of him.  
  
Which was Will’s cue to come bursting into the kitchen with a “Happy birthday, mate!” And then steal his food.

“M-my parent are get-getting divorced,” Freya murmured, not looking up from her textbook.  
  
They were sitting in the library, trying to work on their science project, except Freya kept looking at her book without seeing it, and Merlin kept spacing out, thinking about the story he was writing. Freya looked normal, her gaze clear, seemingly relaxed, but for the strain in her voice that said she was upset. She looked up at Merlin.  
  
“Freya, I—,”  
  
“It doesn’t really bo-bother me that much,” she continued scanning the library with her eyes. “They fight all the t-time, anyway.”  
  
Merlin said nothing. _Something_ was bothering her. He waited patiently, Freya’d get to it eventually, otherwise she wouldn’t have mentioned anything.  
  
“M-mum is moving away, w-wants me to g-go with her, b-but dad is staying here.”  
  
Merlin winced. Freya did not get along with her dad at all. He wasn’t a bad, or violent man, but he just didn’t get her. Freya loved music more than anything. She had played the piano since she was five years old. She was really good at it too. Her father thought it was a waste of time (and money) and probably wouldn’t have let her continue past the age of ten, if it hadn’t been for Freya’s mom.  
  
“Are you going to go?” Merlin’s heart clenched at the thought.  
  
“I don’t know.”

Merlin was not particularly fond of school trips, mostly because they had to go where they were told to go and do what they were told to do, and that didn’t seem like fun to him. When he went on trips with his mom, they’d just go and see whatever they wanted. They never planned anything beyond where they would sleep. They’d wake up in the morning and see what struck their fancy and if that happened to be the Important Museum the town was known for, or the Historical Site you had to see once in your lifetime, then good for them. But if they just wanted to stay late in bed, and then walk around and see how many pastries they could eat in a day without feeling sick, then they’d do that too.  
  
This year, though, their English teacher had decided to take the whole class to the seaside. They had spent the last few weeks periodically talking about books and novels that involved the sea, and how many authors were inspired by it, or had written their novels while on vacation by the ocean. The goal was to just soak up the ‘creative atmosphere’ as Mr. Lebanon liked to call it, and, if you were so inclined, write an essay or a poem or a story inspired by your experience for extra credits.  
  
Merlin liked that Mr. Lebanon was not held down by trivial things like curricula, and just planned lessons under themes and concepts and ideas instead. They still learned everything they had to learn, it just was, in Merlin’s opinion, more interesting that way. Besides, he loved the seaside, loved how the towns had a different smell, the gleam of salt on wooden fences, the constant breeze coming from the ocean, the rushing sound of the waves, and the piercing cries of the seagulls. It felt like a different world, places poised on the edge of something vast and big and wild.  
  
They arrived really early, the sun just over the horizon, the whole world painted blue-purple and salty at the edges, the air so heavy with water you could almost drink it, lick it off your lips. Standing on the beach, all of them in their school uniforms—sleeves and trousers rolled up to elbows and knees, ties loosened, knee-socks bunched down around ankles, with half-opened eyes and sleep still heavy in their limbs—they watched the world come alight over the water, sparkling in the dawn. For one moment—one short moment—they seemed to all breathe at the same time, the same rhythm.  
  
“Okay!” Mr. Lebanon yelled. “We will meet again here at exactly 4 o’clock. Until then you are free to wander around, have lunch. I was told they have the best fish-and-chips. There are a few museums you can go to, if you want, or you can just sit on the beach and get inspired! Remember, it is not mandatory to write a paper, but it will help your grade if you do. And some of you, I’m afraid to say, need it more than others. You know who you are. Until then, have fun, and get creative!”  
  
Arthur elbowed Merlin. “You going to do the extra work?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“Really? I don’t think anyone else will bother.”  
  
“Maybe they should,” Merlin said. “You should too, it’s not hard, and Mr. Lebanon will give you points just for trying, even if your story or poem or whatever is rubbish.”  
  
“Maybe,” Arthur said. “What are you going to write?”  
  
Merlin shrugged. “A story probably. Not sure about what yet.”  
  
“Is that what you do all the time on your netbook? Write stories?”  
  
They were walking along the beach, following some of their classmates toward the town and Merlin realised this was actually the first time they were hanging out together with other people around. They always just went to the library after school, or to Merlin’s house to study, or talked a bit when Merlin went to see Morgana.  
  
It was… nice. Like they were actually friends—no degrees of separation between them anymore. They were just friends. Not best mates or anything, but still. Merlin smiled.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, something like that.”  
  
“I knew it!” Arthur said, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Always typing away on that thing, or your nose buried in a book, or answering questions in class, correcting my essays and all. You really do like all this literature thing.”  
  
He didn’t say it with a mocking tone, which was a bit surprising, since he loved to tease Merlin about… everything really. He said it with a sort of triumph as if he had just discovered the answer to a big mystery. Merlin rolled his eyes.  
  
“Don’t be so proud,” he said. “It’s hardly a secret. All you had to do was ask.”  
  
Arthur frowned. “I did. You never answered.”  
  
“Oh. Really? Well. Sorry? I just… maybe I just didn’t feel like talking about it. It’s no big deal really. It’s nothing. Just for fun, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Arthur let the subject drop. “Hey, let’s go have breakfast somewhere, I’m famished.”  
  
After the initial burst of sunshine, the skies covered quickly with clouds and it drizzled all morning, drenching the town and beach in grey. They had food and spent the morning at the arcade with most of the class. After the rain stopped, Arthur and some of the other boys headed down to the beach to play football. Merlin declined and decided to just take a walk, maybe try to find some ideas for a story. He needed space, fresh air—more air than the proximity of Arthur allowed him.  
  
He walked down the beach until the silhouettes of his classmates were tiny in the distance. The skies were low and heavy, the ocean dark and grey, but Merlin was strangely at peace. He understood this place, the rhythm of it, coming and going, coming and going.  
  
He folded his blazer and sat on it, elbows on his knees, eyes on the vast horizon where the sky met the sea—pale grey on dark. He wondered if he should buy something for his mom, maybe look for seashells for Freya and Gwen. He was startled out of his thoughts by someone dropping beside him in the sand.  
  
“Hey,” Arthur said.  
  
“Hey. Weren’t you playing football a minute ago?”  
  
Arthur raised his eyebrows. “More like an hour ago, mate,” he said with a laugh.  
  
“Won’t they wonder where you are?” Merlin leaned his chin on his arms. What he wanted to ask was _won’t they wonder about you if they see you with me? Won’t they ask about us? Would you mind? Do you care?_  
  
Arthur just shrugged. “Told them I was going for a walk, trying to soak up some ‘creative inspiration.’ I was tired of playing.”  
  
Merlin snorted. “You? Tired of playing football? Who are you and what have you done with Arthur Pendragon?”  
  
“Oi! Don’t take the piss! I can be deep and thoughtful and poetic and shit, like you, you know? I can do the whole artist thing.”  
  
“No, no, you really can’t.” Merlin laughed.  
  
“Whatever, mate. I could surprise you,” Arthur smiled, but there was an edge to his voice and his eyes were serious as he looked at Merlin.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Merlin said looking away from Arthur’s face, back to the ocean. “I’m sure you can.”  
  
They stayed silent for a while.  
  
“Ever thought of being a pirate?” Arthur asked suddenly with a grin.  
  
Merlin snorted. “Course! Who hasn’t?”  
  
“Sailing the Seven Seas in search of treasures, discovering unknown islands—”  
  
“Fighting, pillaging, killing, and raping. Lots of fun, I’m telling you.”  
  
“Well, when you put it that way. Hey, we could be pirates with a code of honour!”  
  
“No raping. No killing unless it’s absolutely necessary.”  
  
“Stealing from the rich, giving back to the poor.”  
  
“Now, that’s Robin Hood.”  
  
“Whatever, _Mer_ lin. I’d be the Captain.”  
  
“Of course, you’d want to be the Captain, you giant, self-important pillock. And what would I be then, the First Mate?”  
  
“Nah, you’d be the tiny little guy who has to clean the floors and bring food to the Captain.”  
  
“Great. You’re making me your servant.”  
  
“Well, what else would you be?”  
  
Arthur shoved Merlin on the shoulder, and laughed—his too loud, throw-his-head-back, absolutely wonderful laugh. Merlin reached to grabbed his shoulder, to pull him in, to hug him, or kiss him, or anything really, to just _touch_ him, damnit, but caught himself in time and just shoved back.  
  
They fell silent once more. Merlin’s wanting was wrapping itself around Arthur once more, and he could feel the heat of Arthur’s body beside his, like a furnace. He ignored it. Merlin didn’t want to risk whatever they had. He just contented himself by looking at the way Arthur’s toes were digging little trenches in the sand as he curled and uncurled them.  
  
Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin looked back at him. He had a frown on his face. The air shifted between them.  
  
“Merlin, d’you… do you remember, that time? My birthday? That time in the pool, when you… when you…” Arthur faltered. Merlin stilled. His heart was pounding, punching against his ribcage as if it wanted out, out and away. He wanted to say _of course you idiot how could I ever forget_ or _I’ve been thinking of almost nothing else since then_ or _no no actually I have no idea what you are talking about please stop_. But he said nothing, couldn’t say anything.  
  
“I just—” Arthur continued. “I wanted to say—fuck, I mean, I wasn’t…”  
  
Oh god, Arthur was actually trying to _apologize_. Merlin almost burst out laughing. It seemed so futile now, almost two years later. He hadn’t forgotten, of course. Even if Merlin could still feel the weight of the water around him sometimes—taste chlorine on his tongue, see the world tinged in blue and green—it really didn’t matter anymore, right? He had learned how to swim, and he and Arthur were friends. His skin was still so incredibly tight around him, yes, and his muscles still taut with restraint, his lungs absolute rubbish at doing what they were suppose to do, his stomach somehow the host to unsaid things, and his chest a cave where a giant made of wanting resided. But it really didn’t matter. He didn’t want it to matter anymore.  
  
“It’s fine Arthur. Don’t worry about it” he said. Arthur looked at him surprised, but there was pain in his eyes, a deep almost pleading look.  
  
“I just—”  
  
“Arthur.” Merlin reached out to put his hand on Arthur’s arms. “It’s okay, yeah? Just… fuck, it doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter.”  
  
Arthur took a deep breath, looking torn between relief and uncertainty. Merlin wondered if he had been carrying this inside him all this time. After a minute or so, Arthur nodded and said nothing.  
  
It started drizzling again.  
  
“Shite,” Merlin said. “We better go back. It’s almost time anyway, I think.”  
  
He stood up, picked up his blazer and brushed the sand from it. Arthur stood up and he was close, too close. Merlin instinctively took a step back, but Arthur reached out, grabbed his shirt and brought his lips against his in one swift movement.  
  
For one quick moment Merlin was hyper-aware of everything: the sand between his toes, the rushing and going sound of the waves crashing over and over again against the shore, the wind brushing his hair against his ears, against his neck, the tangy-salty smell of the air, and the way it tasted on Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s lips kissing his. Kissing _him_. Soft and dry at the same time, pushing, _pushing_ , his nose leaning slightly on Merlin’s, his fingers grabbing tightly at his shirt, stretching the fabric and baring his collarbone, Arthur’s breath on his cheeks, the colour of his eyelashes and the shadows on his eyelids, in the creases of his skin as he held them tightly closed.  
  
Then he closed his eyes too, and his hands flailed a bit at his sides, not knowing where to go, dropping his blazer, grasping at air, until they settled on Arthur’s shoulders, tried not to grip too hard—failed—and then pushed back, _pushed_ against Arthur’s lips, wanting, wanting to take, to taste, to anything. His skin tightened around his bones, his lungs burned, heat pooled in his chest, rising, rising and then crashing as Arthur pulled away—suddenly, violently, shaking Merlin’s fingers off—crashing into the empty space left by his body.  
  
Merlin opened his eyes. Arthur was breathing erratically, eyes wide, lips red, hands fluttering, grabbing—at his jeans, at his shirt, at his hair—not settling. Merlin grabbed at his own shirt, where Arthur’s hands used to be, as if he could still feel them there, solid and strong. His legs were shaking. The air was too cold against his overheated skin.  
  
Merlin stepped forward, reaching for Arthur, surprised to see his hand steady in the air in front of him. Arthur just looked at him, eyes filled with confusion and a whole lot of panic.  
  
“Arthur…”  
  
“Merlin. Sorry, shit, sorry. Sorry.” He looked at Merlin pleadingly, and Merlin didn’t know what to say, what to do, what to give. He wanted to give anything, anything Arthur wanted. But Arthur turned away, and started to run, leaving Merlin behind.  
  
Merlin stood still a moment more, cold in the sea mist—in the gulf left by Arthur’s lingering heat, slowly erased by the crashing water at his feet—feeling utterly alone. It came over him from the sea, engulfing him—irrepressible, unstoppable, unforgiving—like a tidal wave. He forgot to take a breath before it hit.

When he climbed on the bus, Arthur was already there. He didn’t meet Merlin’s eyes and after a few moments, Merlin stopped trying to catch his gaze to ask what was going on. Because he sure as hell _didn’t know_. There was anger—blessed anger—flashing through him and he held onto it tightly. Anger he understood, and it was far easier to deal with than the pain he felt at having had what he wanted for a few seconds, and then being crushed by it, crushed and bruised.  
  
Arthur tried to talk to him once, the next week. He sat down with him at the library, but Merlin was still so angry—so _hurt_ —that he just packed up his things and left without saying a word.  
  
He wrote a quick story for Mr. Lebanon that was not about being kissed by the boy he loved on the beach just to be pushed away afterwards (and seriously was the kiss so bad? Was Merlin such a bad kisser?). He got an A on it and that was the last he ever wanted to hear about that bloody trip to the seaside (except no, because he couldn’t stop thinking about it).  
  
And once again he did not go to Arthur’s birthday party, even though he’d planned on going. He’d even bought him a gift. But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t look at Arthur, couldn’t bear to look in his eyes and see him smile and pretend that he hadn’t kissed Merlin, or pushed him away. Couldn’t bear to think that maybe, just _maybe_ , Arthur had wanted him too, and that now he didn’t. That he didn’t want Merlin anymore.  
  
Two days later, the Pendragons left for Italy once more, and Merlin was glad he wouldn’t have to deal with Arthur Pendragon this summer. He was really really glad. He was.

His anger stayed. Merlin kept it close for weeks and, after a while, he couldn’t shake it off. He was angry at _everything_. He was more like Will than he had ever been, except Will had a sort of casualness to his anger, like he was besties with it, and they had sleepovers and established truces and boundaries between what was acceptable or not. For example, it was absolutely not acceptable to get angry or yell at Hunith Emrys. Ever. Well, Merlin’s anger had no such qualms and he fought more with his mum that summer than in the past three years combined. He didn’t want to, really, he never wanted to fight with her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He yelled and raged and slammed his door and stayed out too late and generally was an arsehole to her. He found psychology books about teenagers and how to deal with them in the living room, and felt guilty. So, so guilty.  
  
But his world was red and yellow and burned orange, and it was such a nice change. When it glowed blue, it wasn’t the shifting shadows of before, it was hot and all-consuming, and Merlin liked it. He felt like he was part of it, not drowning in it.  
  
And he was so angry, enraged really, at Arthur. Bloody Arthur. With his skin, his eyes, his perfect blond hair, and his kind hands. His fucking hands, moving and _touching_ all the time. Arthur who made his heart want to beat faster and slower and his lungs contract with the force of his desire. Arthur who laughed so freely. Arthur who was a giant fucking pillock of a prat. Arthur who had pushed him away, and had tamed him once more, who had become his friend, who’d kissed him— _kissed him!_ —and then walked away like nothing had happened. Like it had meant nothing.  
  
Mostly though, Merlin was angry at himself. Because he missed Arthur so, so much. _Missed_ him, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to get Arthur out of his skin, out of his veins, out of his life. He felt guilty about not listening to Arthur when he tried to talk to him—for walking out and letting him leave for Italy without them talking—and then he was even angrier that he felt guilty about that, because _it wasn’t his fault_.  
  
In mid-July, Freya left. She’d decided to move away with her mum, who had also enrolled her in a school with a very good, and very strong, music program. How could Merlin be angry at her for that? It still hurt, though. They’dd been friends for five years.  
  
Will was a mess. After saying goodbye, he stole liquor from his father and started getting pissed in his back garden. Merlin joined him. Getting plastered seemed like the perfect solution to… everything.  
  
“Fuck her!” Will yelled.  
  
“Fuck them!” Merlin yelled back.  
  
They were well into the night and well into a bottle of whiskey. He was vaguely aware that now would be the time to stop Will before he did or said more stupid shit. Or gave himself alcohol poisoning or something. Normally Merlin would be the one to do that, but right now he was lying down. The ground kept shifting under him, the stars were turning overhead, his heart was in his throat, and he just couldn’t bring himself to care. So he called Gwen. Or at least he supposed he did, because suddenly she was there, and how else would she have known? Elyan and Percy were with her. When Merlin asked, she said something about driving and car and it being really fucking late, but Merlin wasn’t paying much attention.  
  
She grabbed the bottle from Will’s hand, took a swig herself before throwing it away. Will started raging, saying more rubbish about girls and how they fucked up everything, which Merlin knew he didn’t really believed, but would probably have resulted in a kick to the groin from Gwen, if Gwen had been any other girl.  
  
Instead, Will was promptly doused with cold water from the garden hose by Percy. Merlin almost laughed, but was drenched to the bone a minute later as well.  
  
“Get a grip, Will!” Gwen said in his face. “Freya moved two hours away, not to another bloody country!”  
  
Oh. Was that what an angry Gwen looked like? All flashing eyes, tightly held fists, taut muscles, leaning close to you, her small frame suddenly bigger and overpowering? It was scary. She could give Morgana a run for her money.  
  
“And you!” She turned, pointing at Merlin, who startled, his clothes wet and cold against his skin. “I don’t know what is wrong with you, but you better get over it. I want my friend back.” There were tears in her eyes, and it was like a punch to the stomach.  
  
Elyan and Percy helped them get out of their clothes and into their own respective beds. His mum wasn’t pleased. To say the least.  
  
After that, Merlin did his best to keep his anger under control. It was still there, but he let it simmer in his stomach, boil slowly all the water in his body, steam away his organs.  
  


They spent the rest of the summer hanging out on top of Gwen’s garage, smoking cigarettes. Well, Will smoked mostly, but Merlin did sometimes too.

One day in August, it was just him and Gwen up there. Merlin wanted to apologize for the way he had acted, but the thought of it made his anger flare through his blood. He shouldn’t have to, right? He was allowed to feel however he wanted, right? Deep down he knew it wasn’t, but every time he tried to say he was sorry, the words were burned into cinders before they reached his lips.

Gwen was lying on her back, hands behind her head. She nudged his leg with her bare foot and Merlin lay beside her.

“So,” she said, “you ever going to tell me what the hell is wrong with you this summer?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” Gwen snorted. “Look, I know we’re like, fifteen, and apparently we’re supposed to be doing stupid things all the time, and being reckless and all, but seriously? I know you. If you were just being an annoying teenager, you’d be the moody, sad , full of feelings kind—”

“Why does everybody think that?”

“Because that’s just who you are, Merlin. You think too much and analyze everything and keep it all inside and just generally annoy everybody by _not talking_ , instead of, you know, talking too much.”

“Thank you, Gwen. How insightful of you. I’m so glad you’ve figured me out so well,” he said, before he thought it through.

Gwen just rolled her eyes. “See? That’s what I mean. That’s a Will kind of anger. That’s Will’s thing. That’s how he deals. Will… Will’s like that because being angry at people and everything allows him to not face his true feelings, and his pain at losing his mother, and it allows him to keep people at a distance so it doesn’t hurt as much when they inevitably leave. Which doesn’t make sense, obviously, as shown by that night last month when Freya left. You? No. You wouldn’t be like that without a reason.”

Merlin raised himself on one arm and stared at her. “Oh. My. God. Have you been hanging out with my mother?”

Gwen bit her lip and rolled her eyes. “Just that one time. I went to your house and you weren’t there, but your mum offered me tea, and then she told me she was worried about you and asked me if I knew what was going on.”

A pang of guilt flashed through Merlin, then he felt angry at them for talking about him behind his back. “What did you tell her?” he asked.

“I said I didn’t know, but that I was a bit worried too. If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed about you Merlin, is that you don’t talk. Anyway. I said you were acting more like Will, and she agreed and I said I didn’t really understand why Will was this way in the first place. That’s when she said all that…” Gwen waved her hand in the air. “And she said that it wasn’t supposed to be that way. That you and Will were good together because he drew you out and you reeled him in, or something like that.”

Merlin just glared at her, and Gwen looked back at him and rolled her eyes again. “You don’t get to be angry at us for worrying about you, Merlin.”

Merlin lowered his eyes and lay back down beside Gwen. Silence stretched between them.

“So,” Gwen said, “ are you going to tell me why you’ve turned into a giant arse?”

Merlin sighed. A part of him didn’t want to. A part of him wanted to keep it all for himself. Explaining meant telling her about Arthur—about his feelings, about all these months, these years, of wanting and not having, then having and not having again. It also meant outing Arthur somehow, and that didn’t sit right with him. But maybe that was the problem, maybe he shouldn’t keep it all to himself, maybe it was okay to share some things as long as they stayed secret.

He sat up, leaned back on his hands. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Gwen sat up too and put a hand on his shoulder. “Merlin, you know I would never—”

“Not even Morgana.” He thought of Arthur. “God, especially not Morgana. And my mum! Don’t talk to my mum, Gwen.”

Gwen just smiled. “Yes, I promise. I won’t tell anybody. Especially not Morgana or your mum.”

Merlin nodded. He knew he could trust Gwen. She was his oldest friend beside Will and they had known each other since the first day of their first year of school. He took a deep breath.

At first the words wouldn’t come out properly. They burned his throat, and chafed his cheeks and ground against his teeth, but after a while they started flowing more easily, dousing his larynx, cooling his tongue, and once that started, there was little that could have stopped them.

Merlin told Gwen practically everything (he did leave some details out, especially more personal ones. No need to humiliate himself in the process.) He told her how it was really fucking confusing. He told her about the beach, and the kiss. Gwen opened her mouth in surprise, but she quickly pinched her lips together to refrain from saying anything. The rest of the story came out of Merlin fast and choppy, but he got the point across without having to verbalize every single one of his feelings.

After a while, Gwen nodded like she understood. Maybe she did a little, and that brought a comforting warmth back to Merlin’s chest. It felt good to know someone might understand him.

“Wow,” she whispered. “What a twat.”

“Gwen!”

She just waved her hand. “Yeah yeah I know. Look I’m sure Arthur has his reasons and all that, and probably lots of feelings. He’s probably confused. Maybe scared. I don’t know. It was still a really shite thing to do.”

“It was.” Merlin agreed.

“You still like him, though, don’t you?” Gwen asked.

Merlin just shrugged, and Gwen smiled. “Maybe, you should let him explain when he comes back. Morgana has been telling me he’s been a giant arse himself. More than usual, anyway.”

“You’ve talked to Morgana?”

“Email, Merlin. It’s called email. And yes. I’ve been telling her about you too, you know? You’ll have to give her some explanation when she comes back. You know her.”

Merlin groaned. “Can’t you just tell her that everything is fine now?”

“Is it?”

Merlin took a moment to consider. “I don’t know,” he said finally. Gwen just took his hand and put her head on his shoulder.

When Arthur and Morgana came back, they were all invited to the Pendragon house to celebrate their return. Merlin hesitated a long time. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Arthur. On the other hand, he wanted to show Arthur that he was fine, that Merlin didn’t need him. Or something.  
  
“You don’t have to come,” Gwen told him. “I can make up an excuse for you, if you want.”  
  
Merlin was very tempted. But then again…“No, no. It’s fine. I want to go. I want to say hello to Morgana.”  
  
“And maybe stick it to Arthur by completely ignoring him?” Gwen asked.  
  
Merlin smiled. “Maybe.”  
  
When they arrived, Morgana hugged them and led them to the garden. She talked about the things she’d seen excitedly with grand gestures, and was taking evident pleasure at using all of the Italian words she knew. Apparently, Italy hadn’t been as boring this time around.  
  
Merlin looked around him with what he hoped was a casual glance, taking everything in. Most of their friends and Arthur’s friends were here, just swimming in the pool or chatting, taking advantage of the last few days of summer before autumn came and school began. The sun was slowly going down and everything was golden and orange and bright.  
  
Merlin saw Arthur by the pool. He was wearing his red swimming trunks and his skin was glistening with water. His shoulders were wider; there were muscles moving in his back that Merlin didn’t even know existed. He looked absolutely gorgeous.  
  
The air smelled of chlorine, sunshine, and freshly mowed grass. Merlin was violently brought back to that day he shall not mention or think about because he really, really was over it. And it didn’t bother him at all. Nope.  
  
Still. The universe _clearly_ hated him. Fuck his life.  
  
Oh how Merlin hated Arthur for looking the way he did. Not only because he didn’t seem to want to stop being more and more gorgeous as time went on, on the contrary, it also made him feel totally inadequate. Merlin was taller, but not even close to being more than just jutting bones and sharp corners, and very pale skin. His mum kept telling him that with time he would fill out, that he would be wiry instead of just plain skin and bones, but Merlin didn’t see that happening anytime soon. He had tried going to the pool again this summer, but it hadn’t really stuck.  
  
The sight of Arthur woke Merlin’s wanting from its anger-and-denial induced slumber, wrapping itself around his throat, apparently thinking that air wasn’t a necessity for Merlin after all.   
  
“Arthur!” Morgana yelled. “Gwen and Merlin are here!”  
  
Arthur’s shoulders stiffened before he turned around to smile and wave at them.  
  
“He’s been a real pain all summer,” Morgana said. “He either spent his days sulking in corners reading fantasy books, which, by the way, I had no idea he liked, or playing football. And then when we were dragged to events by Uther, he would find the closest girl to his age and just snog her in a corner or something. They couldn’t resist him over there—all tanned and blond and fit that he is. But it was so _very_ annoying. Especially, since he would totally ignore them if we ever saw them again in town or at other events.”  
  
Gwen was looking at Merlin from the corner of her eyes, but Merlin kept his face as controlled as he could. The truth was though, he was pretty sure his insides were disintegrating. He clung to the tiny flame of his anger, refusing to let the tsunami raging between his lungs extinguish it. Fine. Fine. Everything was fine. More than fine, Merlin thought. Good to know it wasn’t really him that had made Arthur run away like a coward, that it wasn’t because he was the worst kisser in the world or something. It was more the fact that Merlin was a boy. And Arthur didn’t do boys, it seemed. He had tried it, he didn’t like it and he had moved on. Okay. Good. Now, Merlin could do the same. Good.  
  
Good.  
  
Merlin followed Morgana to a group of their friends, where Elena was lamenting how boring her summer had been in France—which made Merlin roll his eyes, because really how could these people whine about being bored when they were taken to all of these interesting places? Though apparently, Elena’s father had forbidden her to do anything on her own, or anything she found interesting. He had assigned her a bodyguard, who was more like a chaperone than anything else, because her father believed French boys were too handsy and inappropriate for his daughter. And wasn’t that so fucking stupid and infuriating, Elena proclaimed. It was a miracle she wasn’t in a boarding school for girls.  
  
Merlin left them to go get himself a drink.  
  
He stopped in his tracks when he saw Arthur closing the refrigerator door and drinking deeply from a water bottle. He was still in his wet trunks, leaving a puddle on the floor at his feet, his skin full of goosebumps from the air conditioning.  
  
“Oh,” Merlin said before he could stop himself.  
  
Arthur startled and turned. He looked at Merlin for a moment, surprised, then pulled his eyes away.  
  
“Hey,” he said.  
  
“Hey.” Merlin just stood at the entrance of the kitchen, a sense of déjà-vu hitting him.  
  
“How? Um…” Arthur cleared his throat. “How was your summer?” He looked at Merlin briefly and his eyes were so piercing they made Merlin want to reach out for him. He settled on looking at a point over Arthur’s shoulder instead.  
  
“Good,” he said, with what he hoped was casualness. “Yours?”  
  
“Good.”  
  
The silence was so heavy between them, Merlin could have sliced it with a knife, brought it home and kept it for a day when his thoughts were too noisy to let him sleep.  
  
“I’m glad,” Arthur said.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Arthur took one step toward him, and Merlin had to put his hand on the back of a chair to refrain himself from stepping toward him in turn. From the corner of his eyes he saw Arthur’s hand tighten around his water bottle. He walked toward him, and Merlin looked steadfastly at the floor. Arthur stopped beside him, his shoulder not quite touching Merlin’s, but he could still feel the heat coming from it, from Arthur’s body.  
  
“Take whatever you want,” Arthur murmured, then left.  


Merlin took a moment to try and breathe properly once more. Then he went to the fridge, opened a bottle of water, gulped it all down, before grabbing a second one and going back outside. Somehow his throat still felt as dry as a desert.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks after the beginning of school, Arthur started dating Sophia.  
  
“You okay?” Gwen asked as she, Merlin, and Will looked across the cafeteria to where the happy couple was. Sophia was talking animatedly to Arthur, and while he didn’t seem like he was enjoying himself too much, he also didn’t look like he minded, just smiled softly at her, and even kissed her once.  
  
Merlin nodded. It was better this way anyway. Now he could move on from this whole Arthur Pendragon infatuation. After years of hoping and pining and generally being a giant drama queen over it all, now he knew where they stood. And even though they still hadn’t spoken, maybe one day, _maybe_ , they would be friends again. He hoped. Until then—until the coiling around his bones loosened and unfurled—he would keep his head down and just try to not think about Arthur and how much Merlin missed him.  
  
“Do you think he likes her?” Gwen asked.  
  
“Who cares?” Will said turning back to his lunch. “She’s hot.”  
  
Gwen punched him on the shoulder.

“Mr. Emrys,” Mrs. Dubois said. “Please stay.”  
  
Merlin sighed. It was mid-November and it was so grey and dreary outside, Merlin just wanted to go on with his day, so that he could then go home and curl up under his covers. He packed up his stuff, and went to his teacher’s desk as the rest of the class left. The teacher looked at him with a sad smile and took out his latest exam.  
  
His heart sank.  
  
“I hate seeing students fail in my class, Mr. Emrys. Especially when I know they generally try hard. It makes me feel like I’ve failed them as a teacher,” Mrs. Dubois said with kindness.  
  
“Sorry,” Merlin said. What else could he say, really? He just didn’t get maths.  
  
His teacher nodded. “I know you’re a good student. So I’ve decided to offer you, along with the five other students who have failed this test, to re-take the exam.”  
  
Merlin looked at her surprised. “Really?”  
  
“Really. Now, if you want to do this, I will give you one week. I’ve prepared some review questions and exercises with examples to help you,” she said handing him a thick packet of paper. “Do these, and please come to me with whatever questions you may have. You know my office hours.”  
  
Merlin grabbed the papers. “Thank… thank you.”  
  
“You need to pass this re-test and the next exam, Merlin. Am I clear?”  
  
Merlin nodded. Shit.  
  
Mrs. Dubois smiled. “Okay. Go now, or you’ll be late for your next class.”  
  
Merlin smiled back and left the classroom, almost running into Arthur on his way out. Merlin looked up at him quickly, whispered an apology and walked past to get to his locker in time.  
  
Merlin stayed in the library after school to get started on his extra homework. He was deep in thought, trying to figure out a problem, when his paper was grabbed from under his hands.  
  
“What the—” Arthur sat in front of him, looking at his homework. Merlin frowned.  
  
“You’re still completely pants at geometry,” Arthur said. “I’m starting to think you really are a hopeless case.”  
  
Merlin just stared at him. Arthur put Merlin’s homework on the table and dug into his bag, before handing Merlin a piece of paper.  
  
“Look at my essay for me?” he asked a small smirk on his lips, but there was a soft pleading at the corner of his eyes.  
  
Merlin took a deep breath. It had been weeks since school had started, weeks of not having their bi-weekly study sessions. Weeks of missing Arthur more than ever. Being angry at him was tiring. He really just wanted them to be friends again. He just wanted that.  
  
He tentatively smiled back, and took Arthur’s paper. Arthur’s smile was blinding.  
  
“You don’t really need me to do this anymore though,” Merlin said looking at the essay and not directly at Arthur. “You’re much better at it now.”  
  
Arthur shrugged. “It’s always good to have a second opinion.”  
  
Merlin shook his head and started to read Arthur’s essay. After a while he reached out, without looking up, and pulled out the chair beside him from under the table, the one where Arthur usually sat while showing him how to do a maths problem.  
  
He felt, more than saw, the relief coming from Arthur. He bit his lip to stop himself from smiling too wide. It wouldn’t do to make Arthur’s ego even bigger than it already was.

Merlin knew he should confront Arthur. He should ask him to explain himself, to apologize, to say something. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to pretend everything was fine, so that they could be whatever they were before, so that they could be friends again, without this _thing_ between them. It’s not that it didn’t hurt still when he thought about it, because it did, but he was starting to find it pointless to be angry at Arthur for something he couldn’t help. Sure, he was a git, but obviously he panicked and Merlin could really, really empathize with that.  
  
Panic was like his best friend on most days. He guessed they just went about expressing it in different ways. So he decided to give Arthur a break, and wasn’t that very mature of him?  
  
Except it was really hard to go back to ‘before’. When Arthur was so close to him, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had felt against him—the way his lips had felt and the warmth that had spread throughout his body, both soothing and urgent. His brain very helpfully edited out any hurt and disappointment that had come after that, and seemed to prefer re-playing on a loop the same images and feelings of want and need and having and lust. Which led to very embarrassing moments, culminating with Merlin having to wank in the school bathroom. He wasn’t proud of that one.  
  
Bloody Arthur.  
  
But all in all, they were pretty much the same. If he caught Arthur staring a bit too long at him, or if he was caught himself doing the same thing, they didn’t say anything. If Arthur’s fingers lingered a second too long on Merlin’s arm, they didn’t say anything. And if Merlin had started biting his lower lip again, they also didn’t say anything about it.  
  
They talked about books and movies. Arthur tried to convince Merlin to let him read the stories he had written; Merlin playfully told him to fuck off. Arthur would jokingly hug him when he was coming back from one of his football practice—all sweaty and stinky—and Merlin probably never protested as much as he should have.  
  
And well, there was Sophia. So really, Merlin wasn’t going there in his mind, even if his body was betraying him all the time. Then again, he was used to it by now.  
  
“It’s like you’re putting your fingers in your ears and singing really loudly hoping the problem will just go away,” Gwen said.  
  
“There is no problem,” Merlin replied.  
  
Gwen snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the bloody Queen.”  
  
“Mind your own business then, your majesty.”  
  
“Oh, Merlin.”

“So, still mooning over Pendragon like an idiot?” Will asked. “You gotta let it go, mate.”  
  
“Still crying over the fact that Freya left, even though you were never together in the first place? You gotta let it go, mate,” Merlin said.  
  
“Touché. Let’s just play some games.”  
  
“Yeah.”

It was the last day of school before the Christmas break. They didn’t need to be in the library, having finished all of their homework and exams, but they were there all the same. Merlin probably should have clued in, at that moment, that everything was so so very fucked.  
  
Nevertheless, he continued to type away on his computer, while Arthur read a book in front of him. They waited for the bell to ring.  
  
After several quiet minutes, Merlin took a deep breath and dug around in his bag, before sliding a small package across the table. Arthur lowered his book and raised an eyebrow at Merlin. This was a bad idea, thought Merlin, while his heart hammered so hard against his ribs, he was sure Arthur could hear it. He scratched at his arms, and dug his nails in his skin, the slight pain settling his nerves, focusing him.  
  
“What’s this?” Arthur said.  
  
“What does it look like, you prat?”   
  
Arthur stretched his arms and grabbed the package slowly, almost hesitantly.  
  
“It’s not going to explode or anything,” Merlin said rolling his eyes.  
  
Arthur looked at the box, then at Merlin incredulously. “You bought me a Christmas gift?” he said in a small, uncertain voice, but Merlin could almost hear the awe in it. It made his insides go cold and warm at the same time, and he didn’t even know that was possible. It was so unsettling that a sudden rush of panic filled him.  
  
“It’s nothing really,” he blurted out. “Just a book. And I didn’t—I mean… I bought it for your birthday in fact, but I didn’t give it to you, because well—” He stopped, horrified. He hadn’t meant to bring it up. They never talked about it.  
  
Arthur’s face reddened and he shifted on his chair. He brought the gift closer to his chest, cradled between his hands.  
  
“Yeah... about that. I never said—I mean I tried to—Shit.”  
  
Merlin would have laughed, if he hadn’t felt like his whole being was slowly falling apart. It occurred to him, right then—like some sort of epiphany—that they were absolute rubbish at talking to each other, but that, more importantly, Arthur was the absolute worst when it came to apologies.  
  
“Arthur—”  
  
“No! Please, just… let me…” He leaned forward, looking at Merlin. There were so many emotions crossing his face and eyes, but Merlin thought he saw regret most of all. And fear. “Merlin. I’m… just, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have left like that. And I mean… yeah, just—sorry.”  
  
Merlin took a deep breath. Arthur looked really sincere. He had thought that hearing these words from Arthur would make it better, somehow, but in the end, that’s not what he had hoped to hear. He had hoped that Arthur would tell him he _did not regret_ kissing him. Still, it was nice to hear him acknowledge that he had acted like a pillock.  
  
“You were a giant arsehole,” he said, surprised at the amount of anger that laced his words.  
  
Arthur winced. “I know.”  
  
Merlin wanted to ask _did you really mean to kiss me?_ or _did you like it?_ or _would you like to kiss me again?_ or just _why?_ Instead he just sighed and offered Arthur a small smile.  
  
“Open your gift.”  
  
Arthur looked at him surprised, but returned the smile—still strained at the edges, but a bit too blinding as well.  
  
“You know,” Arthur said, his smile turning into a smirk. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell people what their gifts are before they open them.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You said it was a book,”  
  
Merlin blinked. “I did? Oh, well, yeah. Well, I didn’t tell you what book it was, so there.”  
  
“Still, you’ve ruined half the surprise. You really are pants at this.”  
  
“Oh shut up, and just open it you twat,” Merlin said, annoyed.  
  
Arthur just laughed and ripped the paper quickly, smiling brightly at the book, then at Merlin.  
  
Merlin shifted nervously on his chair. “I hope you haven’t read it yet. Morgana did mention something about you sulking and reading a lot during the summer.”  
  
“I wasn’t sulking!” said Arthur so fast Merlin was certain it was an automatic response, and he giggled. Arthur’s gaze softened. Merlin really wished he would stop doing that. “I haven’t though, read it, I mean. Thanks mate.”  
  
Merlin waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the way his insides suddenly felt like molten gold. “Merry Christmas, you prat.”

Merlin met Owain at Morgana’s New Year’s party. He’d just arrived from Australia, moving in right next door to Lance’s house, just in time for the new year and new school term.  
  
He was nice, and a bit shy—though Merlin imagined everybody would be in this kind of situation. But Owain proved to be funny in a sarcastic kind of way, and smart too. He was also very good looking.  
  
Music was blasting from the enormous speakers in the living room. There was dancing, and lots of yelling and singing and playing happening everywhere. Maybe they were all a little bit too drunk, Merlin concluded. He felt light headed, but his limbs were heavy. The whole space was suddenly too stuffy, too noisy, rattling his bones, making him dizzy. Merlin wandered outside for a bit of fresh air.  
  
He took a deep lungful of cold December air—tried to let it cool the heat under his skin, to let it clear his head a little. It had snowed earlier and the grounds were covered in a light layer of snow, sparkling lightly under the moonlight and the white Christmas lights. He rubbed his face with his hands. He didn’t want to go back inside quite yet, even if he was getting cold in only his sweater. He felt distant and a bit sad. If he was completely honest with himself, it was partly due to the fact that Sophia and Arthur were just having so much fun together. They were laughing and making jokes, and teaming up in silly games. Merlin couldn’t help but wish that he was the one doing these things with Arthur. He didn’t want to hate Sophia, it wasn’t her fault really, and even though she tended to be a bit shallow, she was actually quite nice. But he envied her so, so much. And he envied Percival and Elyan, holding hands and smiling at each other.  
  
He groaned, trying to get his thoughts back on track, to not let himself succumb to self-pity.  
  
He turned around and looked through the tall windows. Will was yelling a story over the music and slouching on Gwaine’s arm, clearly drunk, but Gwaine and Leon and Owain were laughing with him and they clinked their beers together like the oldest of friends. It made Merlin smile. Sometimes he worried about Will. Elena was dancing on a table with Vivian, and Morgana was laughing so much at them, she might as well have been rolling on the floor. The whole room was filled with happy people and Merlin suddenly felt so very alone.  
  
He laughed dryly. Great. He had now discovered he was a sad drunk. Awesome. He hated when Arthur was right.  
  
A sound from behind made him turn around sharply. Gwen and Lance were coming across the lawn arms around each other, their faces close together. Lance bended down to kiss Gwen briefly on the mouth. When they came closer to Merlin, he could clearly see their red cheeks, and lips, which could have been easily explained by the cold, but the happy twinkles in Gwen’s eyes and the way she dipped her head and blushed even more when she saw Merlin looking at them, told a very different story.  
  
They stopped beside him and he smiled at them.  
  
Gwen untangled herself from Lance’s arms. “I’ll be there in a sec,” she told him. “Just want to talk to Merlin for a bit.”  
  
Lance dipped down and kissed her again, before going inside. Gwen turned to Merlin, not quite meeting his eyes.  
  
“So…” Merlin said, teasing, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her.  
  
She looked at him briefly, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”  
  
“What were you doing?”  
  
“Lance and I were just taking a walk—  
  
“and snogging….”  
  
“Shut up! It’s not like that!”  
  
Merlin gave her his best _yeah right_ look, and she laughed.  
  
“Fine, fine. There might have been some very good, _very appropriate_ , snogging too.”  
  
Merlin smiled at her. “Good on you Gwen Thomas. Lance is a very nice bloke… and very fit too.”  
  
“He is, isn’t he?” Gwen said, with a giggle.  
  
“So…” Merlin said. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”  
  
Gwen turned a bit more serious. “Yeah, you big idiot. You’re being all maudlin and stuff. Trust you for being a sad drunk.”  
  
Merlin snorted. “Well, I never thought you would be a horny one.”  
  
Gwen just punched him on the shoulder lightly. “Hey, at least I’m getting something out of being here in the cold.” She looked at him for a moment. “Seriously though, Merlin, I just—I think—look, maybe it’s time to move on.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Merlin said, even though he knew already.  
  
Gwen didn’t say anything though. “Have you ever even looked at other guys?” she finally asked, softly. “Because you never say. Your comment earlier about Lance being fit was one of the only time I’ve ever heard you say something like that about a guy. And I just wonder and… worry, too.”  
  
Merlin wanted to be angry right now. What he did and who he liked was his own business. It wasn’t like he had to look at other guys all the time. Even if he didn’t talk about it, it didn’t mean he wasn’t looking! Except, Gwen was partly right. He didn’t really look, didn’t pay much attention really. He kept his head down, his wanting in check, his everything inside.  
  
“It’s not that…” he said. “Not what—not what you think. It’s not only because I pine after Arthur. I don’t even really. I mean, sure I want him, or I mean—I wish we could be, but it’s obvious he has made his choice. I just… I’m not, I don’t know, comfortable, I guess, talking about it.”  
  
“It?”  
  
“You know… me. Liking blokes. I don’t think about it that much, is all.” He was really drunker than he thought if he was talking about it right now. “I mean, I would like, one day, to have a… boyfriend, sure. But—shit, I don’t know—liking Arthur was safe, I guess? It still is?”  
  
It was hard to explain. All these feelings that he always avoided thinking about, he couldn’t explain it properly because he had never really pondered them that much. For all the thinking he did, he was also pretty good at avoiding doing it. It’s not like he was ashamed, at least he didn’t think so. He just… didn’t want to think about it.  
  
God, he was hot suddenly. His skin was foreign on him and it was like there was a giant crack spreading across his chest, ready to break him in two.  
  
“Oh Merlin—”  
  
“Gwen, don’t. You sound like my mum. Please stop.” He took a deep breath.  
  
“Sorry. Look. I don’t want to push you or anything, if you’re not ready. But, if you are, or if you want to try… something, anything, just to see, yeah? You should give Owain a chance. I think he likes you, or well, he, you know, would like to like you, I guess?”  
  
Merlin almost gave himself whiplash turning toward her. “What?”  
  
Gwen smiled at him. “He’s been looking at you all evening, and he even asked me some questions about you, like what you liked and what year you were in, but he might have been just trying to figure out if you liked boys. If anything, he thinks you’re hot.”  
  
“He’s clearly delusional then.”  
  
“Don’t be stupid Merlin, you’re quite handsome.” She put her hand on his mouth to stop his protest. “Shut up. Whatever you were about to say was probably stupid. Just… trust me, okay?”  
  
Merlin looked at her for a moment, then took a look inside at Owain, who was still sitting on the sofa, laughing with Will, Gwaine, and Leon. He was very good looking, that he had admit. His eyes drifted to Arthur who was playing some sort of card game with Percival, Edwin, and Elyan. Sophia was further away, holding up a clearly plastered Vivian, but she said something, and Arthur turned to her and waved a little with a bright smile on his face. Merlin’s chest constricted. Gwen was right.  
  
If anything, he had to at least give _himself_ a chance. All this wanting, coiled and wrapped and tight inside of him, he couldn’t keep it there for ever. Couldn’t just hold on to it waiting for the release it wanted, because Merlin was too infatuated. Too scared.  
  
Fuck, he was terrified.  
  
“Okay,” he finally said.  
  
Gwen smiled. “I’m not saying you should date Owain, or anything. But maybe you can get a good snog out of it? Or maybe, like, a blow job or something.”  
  
He spluttered. “Gwen!”  
  
She smirked. “Oh please, don’t tell me you don’t at least think about it once in a while.”  
  
Merlin knew his face red—and not from the cold—when she burst out laughing as they both went back inside.

The snogging part happened two weeks later.  
  
Merlin, Will, and Owain were playing video games in Merlin’s room. With Gwen officially dating Lancelot now, they had all drifted toward each other, so that now Gwen, Will, and Merlin were hanging out with Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine, and Arthur, which meant Sophia was there, and then Morgana and Vivian and Elena too. Owain was dragged in by Lancelot and they were just all sitting together for lunch on the second day, as if it had always been that way. Owain and Will had gotten along splendidly at Morgana’s party and went outside to smoke cigarettes between classes. Owain laughed and rolled his eyes at Will’s rants, which was the perfect attitude to have. He loved video games too. Which meant that on the third day, he came to Merlin’s house to play with him and Will.  
  
Merlin was impressed by how easily some people were at adapting, changing, and reacting to change. For Merlin, it usually involved lots of alone time, and moping, and possibly panic. Not that he would admit it out loud, but his mum teased him enough about it to know that it was actually—sadly—true.  
  
“Sorry, mates,” Will said after about an hour. “Gotta go, have tons of homework to finish.”  
  
Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. He had never known Will to quit playing to do homework. He was more copy-someone’s-homework-before-class type of student. Will just ignored him.  
  
As soon as Will was gone, he could feel the heaviness of the air settle on him. His skin itched.  
  
“Wanna play another game?” Merlin asked, not quite looking at Owain.  
  
Owain shrugged. “Sure.”  
  
After getting up to get something to eat, Merlin sat back closer to Owain. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but Owain kept looking at him from the corner of his eyes, and Merlin kept thinking about what Gwen had said. He had had to watch Arthur and Sophia being together all through lunch today and all the days before that for two weeks. He had started studying with Arthur again, and Arthur kept touching him lightly and laughing with his head thrown back. It was all so very frustrating and Merlin wanted, he wanted the pressure to ease and he wanted… he wanted someone to want him. Owain seemed interested and why shouldn’t Merlin be allowed to have this?  
  
Oh god, he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were unfocused and the controller limped in his hands.  
  
“Are you okay?” Owain asked, looking at him with worry.  
  
“Um... yeah, yeah, sure. I’m fine.”  
  
“Mate, you’re very red.”  
  
“I know, I’m just—I’m fine.” When did they get close enough for their thighs to touch?  
  
Owain lowered his head to peer at Merlin’s downcast eyes. His eyes were really green, and Merlin smelled grass and a bit of smoke on him. He thought of summer fields and clover and bonfires.  
  
“Can I kiss you?” Owain said in a whisper. His lips were so very close and smiling slightly as if he knew, the bastard, as if he knew.  
  
Merlin nodded, swallowing his fear, because he had had enough of it and he _wanted_. Owain’s lips brushed against his softly, barely there, before he pulled back a little, searching Merlin’s eyes. And maybe that was it, that cautious gesture, not pushing—even though Owain’s breathing was faster and he was biting the inside of his cheek—maybe that’s what did it, because something snapped inside Merlin and he launched himself forward to recapture Owain’s lips in a surer, definitely harder, kiss.  
  
Owain’s arms went around him in surprise, and Merlin clung at his shoulders tightly. Owain angled his head to the right, and licked Merlin’s bottom lip. Merlin made a sound in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a whimper, and opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or why, and he couldn’t really think. But he liked the way Owain’s muscles moved under his hands, and the way his lips felt, and when his tongue touched Merlin’s, it felt liked electricity. It travelled through his body, from his mouth to his toes, sudden and bright and powerful, and he was pretty sure it was the best thing ever.

Owain was a great kisser. Well, Merlin didn’t have much of a sample to compare him to, but he was certain that he actually really, really liked kissing Owain. They both decided to keep things light and uncomplicated. Owain didn’t seem much interested in dating and Merlin found that he really didn’t mind all that much. He didn’t know if he was ready for any kind of relationship, the thought of it making him slightly uncomfortable. But he did know that he liked what he and Owain were doing together _a lot_.  
  
Things were a bit looser when he was with Owain—when they were kissing, and okay, there was a fair bit of groping involved as well. But he also couldn’t really shake the way he thought of Arthur way too often still, and how his stomach flip-flopped every time Arthur smiled at him.  
  
But Owain was bright green and full of summer. He didn’t smell like chlorine and his hands and lips said that he wanted Merlin. So Merlin pushed back with his own and spread his fingers on Owain’s back, kissed his neck and sucked on his collarbone, whenever and wherever he could. On his bed, in an empty classroom, behind the stacks in the library. It was nice and exciting.  
  
He also did get a blow job for his birthday.   
  
They didn’t talk about it much at school, but their friends seemed to know or suspect anyway, and it was okay. Will kept teasing him and asking him inappropriate questions, because he was Will and of course he would.  
  
He ignored the look on Arthur’s face the first time Will made a comment at lunch. There was a lot of teasing and whistling from most people around the table, but Arthur had mostly just looked surprised. Merlin had felt only a bit guilty at the satisfied feeling spreading through his chest when he saw the slight hurt in there as well.  
  
Arthur never brought it up when they studied, so neither did Merlin.  
  
Arthur’s hands were stiller after that, though, calm and steady on the table, and they never brushed against him anymore. Arthur continued to smile and to be his usual annoying self. Merlin tried to ignore how much he actually missed Arthur’s hands—their fluttering and energy—and the way his skin burned when it was touched, but he wasn’t very successful.

They were all at the Pendragon house one rainy Saturday afternoon in mid-April. Arthur and Morgana had invited them to a movie marathon and they were all lounging around the living room, sprawled out on the sofas and floor. The sky was heavy and grey, making the room dark enough for the movies, the sound coming through the speakers loud, covering the splattering of the rain against the glass.  
  
Merlin’s feet were in Owain’s lap while Owain kept playing distractedly with the frayed edges of his jeans around his ankles. Merlin smiled inwardly. Even though they were not dating, he liked that he was able to do that. He liked that he didn’t have to worry, that nobody batted an eye. He liked the simplicity of it. He liked being touched.  
  
When the bowl of popcorn that was doing the rounds arrived in his hands empty, Merlin sighed and got up.  
  
“I’ll go make some more,” he mumbled  
  
“I’ll help you,” Arthur said getting up.  
  
Merlin put a bag in the microwave and leaned against the counter to wait. Arthur opened a few bags of crisps into different bowls. The silence was thick and Merlin wasn’t sure why. In here the sounds coming from the living room were muffled and behind them, behind the humming of the microwave, he could hear the rain, strong, furiously knocking on the house, like it was trying to pass through, like it wanted in.  
  
“So…” Arthur said after a while. “You and Owain…”  
  
“What about it?” Merlin’s stomach tensed up, his lungs quivered.  
  
“You’re like, dating or something? Because it never… never really looks like it at school and I—”  
  
“You what?” He turned toward Arthur.  
  
Arthur shrugged, though he wasn’t quite able to meet Merlin’s eyes. “I don’t know. I just wondered, I guess. You never talk about it.”  
  
Merlin wasn’t sure what to make of this. Arthur’s voice was calm, almost casual, but his body was stiff, and he was avoiding Merlin’s eyes. His grip was tight on the edge of the counter. Merlin rubbed his face with his hands.  
  
“It’s not like that,” he said. “We just… hang out, I guess.” He laughed a little. It wasn’t quite right. He hung out with Arthur and Will and he was sure he had never done with them what he did with Owain a few times a week. Very much sure. “With benefits,” he added to make things clearer.  
  
“Oh,” was all Arthur said, but the tension in his body did relent. He just lowered his head and seemed to suddenly find the colours in the the marble of the counter the most fascinating thing in the world. Merlin was annoyed.  
  
“Sorry, if that offends you,” he snapped a little.  
  
Arthur looked up sharply, eyes wide. “No! Not at all. I mean not like that. I just—I thought. Fuck, I don’t know.”  
  
The microwave dinged and Merlin took the bag of popcorn out and emptied it into a bowl. He was halfway out of the kitchen when he heard Arthur’s soft voice, sad and somewhat broken, almost completely swallowed by the sound of the rain and the greyness of the air.  
  
“When did you stop liking me?”  
  
Merlin turned around slowly. His heart was in his throat, his stomach in his feet he was sure that there was a big gaping hole slowly opening somewhere between the two, filling itself with clear, chlorinated pool water. Sudden irrational panic seized him at the realisation that Arthur knew. Then his brain caught up and he was stricken with another realisation that of course, _of course_ , Arthur knew. Merlin had kissed him. Twice. Arthur just didn’t know how much.  
  
Merlin put back the bowl of popcorn on the counter, scared he would drop it. His hands were shaking too much. “What?” he managed to say, and had to remind himself to take a deep breath.  
  
Arthur shifted on his feet, looking out the window. “It’s just. I thought, you know, I just thought that maybe I… that maybe we… that you would be…  
  
Something clicked in Merlin’s mind, a sudden, painfully bright understanding, sharp edged and cruel. “That I would be what, Arthur, waiting for you?” He put his hands flat on the cool surface of the counter, steadying himself. “That I would just pine away for you?”  
  
Arthur said nothing, just hung his head down, pressing his lips together. Merlin was so fucking furious, he felt tears well up in his eyes. “Screw you Arthur. You have no idea. No idea.”  
  
“I know—”  
  
“No you don’t! You don’t. Remember Arthur, _you_ kissed me, _you_ ran away, _you_ started dating a _girl_.”  
  
He knew, deep down, that he was being a bit unfair. After all, Merlin hadn’t given Arthur any signals or clues either. Not after that first kiss almost three years ago, not after that second one either. He had just wrapped everything around himself. In fact, he would have been surprised and incredulous at the knowledge that Arthur did, in fact, want him, or had wanted him, or something, if he hadn’t been so furious right at that precise moment. So furious, particularly at all the things unsaid. All the things they never said and just left fester between their teeth, around their tongues, until they were just rotten shells of what they were supposed to be.  
  
“Merlin I—”  
  
“ _What do you want from me?_ ” Merlin cried out, and he knew he was begging, underneath all his anger, he was just begging Arthur.  
  
But Arthur stayed silent. His body was shaking, his hands were held in tight fists, but Merlin couldn’t see his face. He stayed there, trying to catch his breath. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, a thousand things he wanted to hear. He wanted to hurt Arthur, make him feel the way he felt. He wanted to hold him and tell him that it was okay, that he still liked him. He wanted to punch him, and he wanted to kiss him.  
  
In the end though, he just grabbed the bowl of popcorn, and caught the end of his anger tightly.  
  
“Figure out what you want, Pendragon, I’m not fucking waiting.” And he left.

It wasn’t the same with Owain after that. Merlin had said he wouldn’t wait, and he meant it. He wasn’t going to wait for Arthur to stop being stupid and finally decide what he wanted. But on the other hand, he also couldn’t stop thinking about how Arthur wanted him. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that, yes, Arthur Pendragon wanted Merlin Emrys, liked him even. Maybe. And now that he wasn’t so angry and hurt, he looked back on that moment in the kitchen, remembering the way Arthur had held himself—rigid and bent, small and fragile among the greyness of the sky through the window, his voice small, barely a whisper over the sound of the rain—and now, _now_ Merlin could see how utterly terrified he had looked. How lost.  
  
Merlin felt a twinge of guilt at the memory that he promptly smothered with more anger. No matter how terrified Arthur was, it wasn’t an excuse for the way he had acted, was acting.  
  
But he didn’t know, did he? How Merlin truly felt? How he had felt all this time. Not really.  
  
Merlin was vaguely aware of Owain’s lips on his neck, his weight over him, his hand cupping him through his jeans, but his mind was far away from it all even though his body responded to the touches of its own volition. He smelled grass on Owain’s skin. Merlin closed his eyes, images of green valleys stretching under a bright summer sky filling his mind. He tried to find comfort in that.  
  
Owain pulled back, and Merlin opened his eyes to look at him.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Owain frowned.  
  
Merlin just shrugged, not really attempting to hide anything, or make up a lie. Owain sighed and pull himself off Merlin to sit on the bed, his back to the wall. After taking a deep breath, Merlin sat beside him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said looking at his hands in his lap. He felt Owain’s shrug against his shoulder, then the comforting weight of his hand on his thigh.  
  
“It’s cool, mate. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
They sat in silence for a while. Merlin tried to figure out what to say, what he really needed to understand.  
  
“Have you—how long have you known?” he finally asked.  
  
“About what?” Owain leaned his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.  
  
“You know…,” Merlin stammered. Bloody hell, he couldn’t even say it. “About you. That you were—fuck—that you were gay.”  
  
“Oh that!” Owain exclaimed with an insouciance that Merlin envied him with a fierce and sudden passion. “I’m not sure, maybe since I was, like, eight or nine. Pretty early on.”  
  
“Oh. Were you—were you scared?”  
  
“No, not really. I was… lucky I guess. I have an uncle who’s gay and him and his partner lived two houses down from ours. It was all very okay in my family. Went to pride parades starting when I was five and everything. Learning that not everybody was okay with it, that it wasn’t like, something ‘normal’ for everybody, was more of a shock than discovering I would very much prefer kissing boys than girls”  
  
“That’s… great,” Merlin managed, though there was a lump in his throat, and he felt so foolish about… everything really.  
  
Owain seemed to realised something was bothering him, because he continued. “I know I was lucky though, it’s not… it’s not like that for everyone. My first boyfriend, he hated himself so much, you know, and he was terrified. First time we kissed, he slammed me into the wall of an empty classroom, and pretty much just bit my lips. He was shaking so much” Owain laughed a little. “All I could think was how this was something that only happened in movies, you know?”  
  
“What happened to him?”  
  
“He... he stayed angry for a long time. But it got better. His dad though, oh he was a total arsehole. The worst. One time, he came home early from work and found us making out on the sofa. Mate, I’ve never been so scared in my life. He threw us out of his house, the both of us. David… David was just a fucking wreck. He lived with us for a while, then he moved with his mum in Brisbane. She’s okay, his mum. He’s okay now, too. Better anyway.”  
  
“That’s—”  
  
“Fucking awful?”  
  
“Yeah…” Merlin tried to imagine what it would have felt like, to be thrown out of his house, to be so hated by your own parent. It must be devastating.  
  
“What about you?” Owain said after a while.  
  
Merlin closed his eyes drawing his knees closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them—wanting to be safer, to be surer in his body. “Around twelve,” he said. Owain said nothing, just waited for him to continue. “I was… I don’t know. I thought I was in love with this boy, or I don’t know. Looking back, it probably wasn’t love, just—I spent a year pretty much just thinking about it and being scared and thinking there was something absolutely wrong with me.”  
  
“Wasn’t your mum super okay with it, though?” Owain said, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to startle Merlin.  
  
Merlin took a deep breath, he had never talked about these things before, always tucked them in a corner of his mind. “I don’t know why I thought that. Mum never made any bad comments against any of it, you know, there was just stuff on TV once in a while, comments on the school grounds sometimes, nothing much really. I don’t know why I freaked out so much, why I’m still—Fuck.”  
  
Owain squeezed his shoulder. “You know what I think? I think sometimes it’s not just the liking boys thing. I mean sure, it’s probably overwhelming because you, like, suddenly discover that you’re different, or that, you know, you’re not the way you thought you were, not the way people expect you to be. Then, like for you, you just find yourself in love with somebody. Or at least you like them a lot, or you want to snog them senseless. Either way, it’s new and you just don’t know how to deal with all the feelings, you know? I mean I think it’s pretty scary for everybody no matter who they like, so combine the two and some people just freak out. There’s no fucking manual to tell you how to deal. Some are better at it than others, is all.”  
  
Merlin had a sudden flash of Arthur, hunched in the grey kitchen with rain battering the windows. Arthur living in a house of steel and glass and clean lines with a father that was almost never there, and a sister that was so very different from him.  
  
He tried to shrug off the sudden sadness that came over him, all blue and grey and cold like the waters of a Northern lake after a downpour.  
  
He turned to Owain. “That’s surprisingly deep, Brown. How insightful of you,” he said with a raised eyebrow, and yeah, maybe Arthur had rubbed off on him a little.  
  
Owain just snorted. “Hardly. Sorry to disappoint, Emrys, but I was just repeating what my mum once told me when I couldn’t understand why David was so angry and sad all the time. Why he kept kissing me and pushing me away almost in the same breath.”  
  
“Wise woman, your mum.”  
  
“Yeah, that she is,” Owain said, stretching. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.” He smiled and grabbed the controller on the corner of the bed. “Let’s play some games, yeah?”  
  
Merlin nodded and grabbed his own.  
  
“So, know any other cute gay boys around here?”  
  
Merlin laughed and shook his head at him.  
  
“What? If you’re not going to put out anymore, I think I should—”  
  
Merlin hit him in the face with a pillow. “Oh my god! Shut up and play, you slag!”

He spent the rest of his weekend in his room thinking about Arthur, and what Owain had said. Mostly, though, he thought about what he, Merlin, wanted. He’d told Arthur to figure himself out, but Merlin felt like the biggest hypocrite, because _he_ didn’t truly know what he wanted. He just knew that he had wanted Arthur. Still wanted Arthur, probably, just.. .not like this.  
  
He stared and stared at his netbook’s screen, trying to make sense of his feelings and his thoughts. He might have written a few absolutely depressing poems, but he would never admit to it. Nobody would let him hear the end of it. But he tried to imagine what he could tell Arthur—needed to tell him—and wrote it down. It was always easier to write things than to say them.  
  
His skin itched all day. At night he tossed and turned, twisting himself into his sheets, digging his nails into his palms, wanking frantically because he couldn't stop thinking about all the times Arthur had touched him. He could taste the salt that permeated the air the day Arthur kissed him. He thought of all the times Owain and him had gotten off and touched each other, kissed each other, and how he had wanted them both in different ways. Now, all these touches and kisses and wantings seemed to twist and merge into his head, leaving him sweaty and exhausted and so fucking horny.  
  
He wrote pages of words that, in the end, he decided were all pretty meaningless if he wasn’t going to say any of them.

Merlin was waiting for Will. Again. He sat in the hallway beside the classroom door where Will was doing his detention. It was a library day. A day where he was supposed to meet Arthur so they could study, and Merlin couldn’t decide if he wanted to go, couldn’t decide if he wished Arthur to be there or not.  
  
In the end, he decided to have a quick look. If Arthur was there waiting for him, maybe they could talk. The thought made him laugh. Talking definitely wasn’t one of their talents, if the weight of all the things unsaid between them—living in the pit of his stomach—was anything to go by.  
  
Arthur was not in the library, but he was leaning against the wall beside the entrance door, head down, hands in his pockets. Merlin almost turned around when he saw him, but stopped himself. Maybe it was time to be a little brave.  
  
Arthur looked up when he heard him approach.  
  
“Hey,” Merlin said.  
  
“Hey.” Arthur picked up his school bag from the floor and dug inside for a folder that he handed to Merlin.  
  
“It’s—I figured you maybe wouldn’t want to study together anymore, or something, so I made you this. They’re revision problems and some explanations on some theorems. You’re much better now, though, you should be fine,” he said in a low voice. Merlin saw him swallow hard.  
  
He reached out for the folder. “Thanks. I… thanks,” he said, taken aback a little.  
  
Arthur nodded and turned away, hitching his bag on his shoulder, every sound loud and strangely hollow in the empty hallway.  
  
A strange wave of anger, and yearning came over Merlin. It pushed through his ribs, and around his lungs, up his throat, into his mouth—pushing, pushing at his lips demanding to be left out—and Merlin was powerless to stop it.  
  
“I’ve always felt so tight around you Arthur,” he said, vaguely remembering all the words he had typed away during the weekend, all those words he never said. “Loving—I mean—fuck. Wanting. You. Wanting you from the start, has been an exercise in not letting go, in restraint, always, always so… I don’t know. In _not_ drowning.”  
  
Merlin took a deep breath, twisting his hands, trying to find some solid ground, something to hold onto. “I’m tired. Really, really tired. Bloody hell, Arthur, I’m… we’re only sixteen. Is this how it’s suppose to feel?” He laughed, and it sounded weird and strained to his ears. He let his eyes wander around the hallway, avoiding looking directly at Arthur, though he could see, briefly, that Arthur had turned toward him and was listening.  
  
“I know I told you to figure out what you wanted and… and it made me think about what I wanted. I don’t think I’ve everything figured out or anything but—” He took a deep breath. “I want to finish school and go to uni and study and have fun. I want to… flirt. With other boys. Boys that won’t mind if I kiss them, and that won’t look at me with fear in their eyes every time something a bit more intense happens, even though I might be scared shitless too. That won’t run away. I also want to be that—the one that doesn’t run away, I mean.”  
  
Merlin was shaking, and Arthur was silent, just standing there, looking at his feet. But the words were pushing and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop them.  
  
“I want to be able to like them, or fuck them, or love them, or _whatever_ really. It’s just so tight all the time, around me. Like I can’t breathe properly. Since like, I was twelve, or something. I just—I want to breathe again. I want that more than anything, I think. And I know you’ll laugh at me for saying this, roll your eyes and tell me what a weirdo I am, and that nobody speaks like this, like a book, but I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.”  
  
Merlin was getting restless, his feet wanted to run. He wanted to get away. “Fuck, Arthur,” he said, maybe a bit too despairingly, a bit too angry. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared?”  
  
Merlin couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned around and ran back to Will’s classroom. He might have been a bit brave, saying all this, but he wasn’t _that_ brave. Not brave enough to hear what Arthur had to say. The plonker probably wouldn’t have said anything anyway. Merlin didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved that Arthur didn’t come after him.

Two weeks later, Arthur and Sophia broke up. Apparently, it was a mutual agreement and they seemed to still be quite good friends, so Merlin was inclined to believe it.  
  
He quickly squashed the burst of hope that bloomed inside his chest at the news. If he wasn’t one-hundred percent successful at it, nobody needed to know. School was almost done, and then Arthur and Morgana would leave again for the summer, and in the autumn, Merlin would be fine again. Especially now that he knew exactly where he stood. Now that he had said what he had wanted to say.  
  
“Last day of school, _finally_ ,” Will said, sitting down at their lunch table.  
  
“Still have exams to do, though,” Vivian said, not pleased at the prospect.  
  
“Are you and Morgana going back to Italy, this year too?” Leon asked Arthur.  
  
Arthur shrugged and Merlin looked at him intently. “Father said we could stay here this year since we’re old enough to be by ourselves. Haven’t decided yet.”  
  
“Me neither,” Morgana said.  
  
“It would be great if you stayed,” Gwen said.  
  
“Yeah, mate,” Gwaine told Arthur. “Stay and we’ll play football all summer, it’ll be great. Plus we can have parties at your place all the time.”  
  
“Don’t think I’m letting you trash my Father’s house while he’s gone, O’Malley.”  
  
“ _Moi?_ ” Gwaine put on a fake innocent look. “I would never!” Leon slapped him behind the head.  
  
“I’m going back to Australia for a few weeks,” Owain said. “It’ll be nice to see my uncle and cousins and friends again.”  
  
“Don’t you have a date tonight though?” Will asked around a mouthful of chips.  
  
Owain stretched his arms over his head with a big smile. “Sure do. Second date in fact. It’s okay though, he’ll be here when I come back.”  
  
“Is that the fit bloke from the other day? The one from Avalon High?” Gwen said, her head on Lance’s shoulder.  
  
“Oh, yes.”  
  
“So, by date you mean…” Elena wiggled her eyebrows.  
  
“I mean rushing through a pretence of a meal and making out like crazy on the back seat of his car, of course,” Owain deadpanned.  
  
“Of course.” Elena nodded, equally serious.  
  
Everybody laughed, and Merlin pretended not to see the look of surprise on Arthur’s face.

Merlin was studying in his room. He heard a knock at the front door, looked at the time, frowned when he saw it was half past ten, and went to answer it. He took a quick look in the living room—his mum was asleep on the sofa in front of the telly. He opened the door slowly, peaking out carefully. Arthur was standing awkwardly on the threshold.  
  
“Arthur?” he whispered. “What—”  
  
“I didn’t know,” Arthur said quickly.  
  
Merlin frowned. “Wait,” he said and opened the door wider to let Arthur in. He put his finger to his lips and led him to the garden.  
  
“Sorry,” he said turning back to Arthur after closing the backdoor. “Mum was asleep in the living room, didn’t want to wake her up.”  
  
“S’okay,” Arthur mumbled. They stood in silence for a few moments.  
  
“Why are you here?” Merlin finally asked. He was on edge. The air around them was cool, but comfortable. He could feel the heat coming off Arthur even though he was technically too far from him for that to be possible.  
  
“I didn’t know,” Arthur repeated. “That you and Owain—that you weren’t…”  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I told you though. It was never like that.”  
  
Arthur said nothing. Merlin looked at him. His eyes were big and bright and maybe a bit red, his cheeks were flushed and his hair in disarray, as if he had passed his hand through it too many times. The sprinklers on the neighbour’s lawn started up, filling the summer air with their staccato rhythm. The night was deep blue, tinged with patches of yellow from the light coming through the kitchen window.  
  
“Did I fuck it all up?” Arthur said in the silence, his voice small and so, so very fragile. Merlin instinctively took a step toward him.  
  
“Arthur—”  
  
“Do you still want me?” Arthur asked in the same voice, almost as if he was talking to himself.  
  
Merlin couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat, and his bones were trying, trying to stretch his skin, to accommodate the sudden rush of emotion that passed through him.  
  
“You never said, you know, that time in front of the library. You never said if you still wanted me,” Arthur continued, taking a deep breath. Merlin held his. “I replayed it a thousand time in my mind, but I could never figure it out. You said that loving… that wanting me had been hard, and you went on about what you wanted in the future, but you never said if, _right now_ , you wanted me. And I couldn’t figure it out. I _can’t_ figure it out.”  
  
Arthur’s voice broke. Merlin was terrified to see that there were tears at the corners of his eyes. Arthur was scratching at his arms and wrists like his skin itched. Like it itched all over him. Merlin knew, oh he knew that feeling so well.  
  
A dry sob escaped Arthur and he rubbed his face with his hands. “Shit,” he mumbled, but his whole body started to shake.  
  
“I was too scared, Merlin,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what to do, I still don’t, I just—fuck, I don’t—” Arthur pinched his lips together and Merlin could see, could feel, how very much he was trying not to break right now.  
  
He remembered a morning, long ago, where his mother had held him in his arms, in a kitchen that had been too bright and too happy for Merlin, that had stripped him bare and had sent him crying, emptying the pool inside his chest. He remembered his mother’s words and how perfect they were and how beautifully they had slowly mended the tears in his skin, in his body.  
  
So, without thinking about it too much, he reached for Arthur, all broken and shaking, crying into his hands, falling apart. He wrapped his arms around him and let him clutch at his shirt in too-tight fists—all desperation and need.  
  
 _I love you I love you I love you I love you_ , he sang into his ear. He knew it was too early and too fast, but he couldn’t think of anything else, and all he wanted to do was to mend Arthur, to make him okay again.  
  
Anyway, he really did love him, and it was the truth. It had been his truth all along.

They were both lying on their backs in Merlin’s garden, looking at the sky, the stars slowly pulsing above them. Arthur was clutching his hand a bit too tightly, but Merlin didn’t mind. He found it reassuring and marvelled at the simple fact that he was holding Arthur’s hand. For real.  
  
“What made you come here tonight?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the sky.  
  
“Morgana,” Arthur said. “I might have been a bit… frantic when I came back home after school, and well… she can be very persuasive you know?”  
  
“She’s scary.”  
  
Arthur chuckled. “Yeah well, she made me spill most of it, and then yelled at me. Told me I was emotionally stunted, and then held me and it was all very embarrassing and let’s not talk about okay?”  
  
Merlin laughed. “I think that’s our problem, though, not talking.” He turned on his side to look at Arthur’s profile, not letting go of his hand. “Tell me.”  
  
Somehow Arthur seemed to understand what he meant. He rubbed his face with his free hand. “You know, I think I always wanted to be your friend. Like you would come to the house with Gwen and hang out with Morgana, and I just… I thought you looked interesting. You smiled so widely and it was always so easy to see what you were feeling, like you didn’t at all try to hide it. Or something. I didn’t question much at that time, I mean we were what? Twelve?”  
  
Merlin started to play with the strands of hair around Arthur’s ear. Now that he could touch him, he never wanted to stop.  
  
“Then you went and kissed me,” Arthur said with a dry laugh. “You really did a number on me with that one, Emrys. I just—I didn’t realise it at first, because I was so bloody surprised, but just—I don’t know. Just knowing that you wanted to kiss me made me look at you differently. Then I just wanted to know you more. And when you were close I wanted to touch you, just to see what it felt like. I didn’t understand… well, I just thought—I wasn’t really confused at that point, I think, because I wasn’t really thinking about it.”  
  
Arthur took a shuddering breath, and Merlin squeezed his hand tighter, and moved closer until the front of his body was against Arthur’s side, their entwined hands trapped between them.  
  
“I started realising when… when you were sick that time and I brought you your homework. Your mum let me in, but you were asleep so I left the homework on your desk and I fixed your maths homework and then as I was about to leave, I just looked at you, in the bed… I can still see it in my mind, you were so pale and you looked small, and before I knew it I was pushing your hair off your forehead and bending down to kiss your cheek and, fuck, I realised what I was doing, and I basically just ran out of your house.  
  
“After that… after that there was a lot of confusion, but I think I just pushed it down, you know? I just wanted to know you, and I just sort of tucked it away in my mind, completely ignoring it. But I think—I think unconsciously, I just wanted to be near you, and I didn’t know how to… deal with that. I just—I don’t know sometimes, how to show people… how—”  
  
“Shhhh,” Merlin whispered, raising his head and kissing him on the cheek lightly. “It’s okay, go on.” He figured they could broach the subject of why that was, and of Arthur’s father, and all that came with it later. Much later.  
  
“It was sort of easy to ignore for a while, except when we were together I just wanted to touch you more and more, and it was harder and harder to stop myself, until I couldn’t really ignore it anymore. And then because of that, I just started looking at other blokes, you know? And, like, wonder about them and… oh I don’t know. I just wanted, somehow. Then there was that day at the beach. Bet you remember that one.”  
  
Merlin snorted.  
  
“Yeah well, couldn’t stop myself that time, and Merlin, it was, shit, it was perfect and I completely freaked out. Because it was sort of like, a confirmation, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore, and I don’t know. Well, you were there. Then I left for Italy.”  
  
“Where you proceeded to snog tons of girls.”  
  
“Where I proceeded to snog tons of girls, yes. Just… I wanted to see if it would feel different with them.”  
  
“Did it?”  
  
“Yeah, it did feel different. I didn’t totally hate it though, which was confusing too.”  
  
“So you, what? You like girls and boys?”  
  
Arthur shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe? I think I like blokes more, though. Does that make sense?”  
  
“Dunno,” Merlin said. “Probably. Doesn’t really matter though, right?”  
  
“I guess not.”  
  
“Why did you start dating Sophia then?”  
  
“I thought that maybe, if I liked both, then I could just like being with Sophia and it would be less complicated, you know? Easier. Somehow. Couldn’t stop wanting you though, so I guess that failed.”  
  
“Poor Sophia…”  
  
“She was fine. We were more mates than anything. We never really snogged either. It was a bit weird, but between you and me, I think she’s one of us.”  
  
“One of us?”  
  
“Yeah, you know... I think she likes girls.”  
  
“Oh! One of _us_! I see.” Merlin said smiling against Arthur’s shoulder. “We’re part of a group now, a community?”  
  
“Isn’t that how it works?” Arthur turned toward Merlin, wrapping his free arm around his waist.  
  
“I wouldn’t know,” Merlin said just as Arthur rolled him on his back, covering his body with his own.  
  
Merlin smiled up at him and pushed back some stray hair falling over Arthur’s eyes. Arthur looked at him intently, his eyes still a bit puffy and red. It made Merlin’s heart seize inside of him.  
  
Arthur lowered his head slowly and stopped when his lips were barely a millimetre from Merlin’s.  
  
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, and Merlin shivered at his warm breath over his dry lips.  
  
“Yes, yes, please.”  
  
Then Arthur’s lips were on his own, soft and a bit hesitant, which almost made Merlin roll his eyes, except it just took his breath away. He couldn’t stop the sigh of contentment, and the groan of _yes, finally_ that escaped him as he pushed back harder trying to show Arthur how much he wanted this. How much he’d wanted this for such a long time.  
  
Arthur supported himself on his hands on each side of Merlin’s head and Merlin fisted Arthur’s shirt at his sides, pushing, closing the space between their chests. Arthur whimpered a little and Merlin would have teased him if it hadn’t been the most perfect sound he had ever heard.  
  
He took Arthur’s bottom lips gently between his teeth and nibbled on it a little, making Arthur smile. Merlin darted his tongue out and licked quickly at Arthur’s teeth, then pulled back and smiled at him. Arthur just surged forward and recaptured Merlin’s mouth with his. When their tongues touched, Merlin felt the jolt of electricity he liked so much pass through him. Arthur must have felt it too, because he moaned deep in his throat and the kiss turned frantic, a bit desperate. Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s chest and tried to bring him even closer. Arthur grabbed at Merlin’s hair with one hand, pulling slightly, and there were teeth and tongues and lips and so much heat, Merlin though he would just burst into flames.  
  
When Arthur pulled off, they gasped for air, but Arthur was grinning at him like a fool, happy. His eyes were dark and a bit wild, and it was the most beautiful Merlin had ever seen him.  
  
He reached out and carded his fingers through Arthur’s hair, soft and slightly damp with sweat.  
  
“I think you owe me your side of the story, Merlin,” Arthur said, still a bit out of breath.  
  
“Ummmm, later.” Merlin rolled his hips upwards, bringing his erection against Arthur’s, making him moan loudly in surprise. Merlin grinned, and did it again. And again.  
  
Arthur was biting his lower lip, visibly trying to restrain himself from being too loud.  
  
He put his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder, breathing heavily into his neck, and soon he was pushing back against him—grinding his hips down, trying to find that friction, that touch—and Merlin smirked when he closed his teeth gently around Arthur’s earlobe and made Arthur’s hips stutter for a moment. Arthur bit lightly on his neck and Merlin threw his head back, stretching his neck, silently begging Arthur for _more more more_. Arthur shifted slightly so he could put one of his legs between Merlin’s, and there was an awkward moment of rearranging limbs, and bumping elbows and quiet laughter until _yes, yes right there_ and _oh god harder_.  
  
Merlin couldn’t help the sound that escaped his lips, loud and wanting into the quietness of the night, eyes fixed on the stars above. Arthur smelled like grass and soap and sweat, and so like Arthur that Merlin almost choke with the wave of _want want want_ and _more_. Arthur left open-mouthed kisses along Merlin’s neck and jaw between breathing hard and mumbling incoherent words of _want you_ and _love you_ and _Jesus, Merlin_.  
  
Merlin grabbed the belt loops on Arthur’s trousers and brought their cocks together harder, almost violently and all sense of rhythm they might have had at this point went right out the window. It was all desperate thrusts, and rolls of hips and grabbing at skin and clothes and opened wet kisses and _come on come on come on come on_.  
  
Merlin came with a shout, almost surprised at how quickly it had built inside of him, all powerful waves rushing over him and only _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur_ on his tongue. He tried to keep going, pulled at Arthur’s waist saying nonsense into his ear, telling him to _come for me_ , and _please please Arthur_ , until Arthur’s body went suddenly stiff, and he groaned Merlin’s name into his ear—which was now his favourite sound, hands down.  
  
Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s chest and his legs around his waist, holding him close while his body shivered, never wanting to let go.

Merlin slipped back inside the house and woke his mum up. She startled when he put his hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Merlin?”  
  
“Yeah, mum. You fell asleep on the sofa,”  
  
“Oh, well. I guess I should go to bed, huh?” she said, slowly getting up.  
  
“Mum?”  
  
“Yes, honey?”  
  
“Um… Arthur is here, in the garden. And um… can he stay for the night?”  
  
“Oh! But of course, dear. Let me get some covers for him. He can have the sofa now that I’m not sleeping on it”  
  
Merlin grabbed his mother’s hand. “Mum? Can’t he just sleep in my room? With me?”  
  
Hunith squeezed Merlin’s hand. “You and Arthur?” she said with no surprise.  
  
“Yeah. Me and Arthur.” That made Merlin smile. “It’ll be fine, I promise, nothing will happen. I just want him there, that’s all.”  
  
Merlin was glad that it was dark in the living room, except for the light coming from the telly, so she couldn’t really see his blush… or the state of his clothes. Hunith smiled at him.  
  
“Okay, dear. It’s fine,” she said with a yawn. “Go get him, and tomorrow I’ll make you both breakfast.”  
  
Merlin kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks mum.”  
  
She kissed his forehead and walked to her room. Merlin waited until she had closed her door gently before going back outside for Arthur.  
  
“It’s fine,” he said taking his hand. “You can stay here for the night, and tomorrow mum will make us breakfast and then we can study all day for our exams if you want.”  
  
Arthur looked at their hands and then at Merlin and smiled. “You sure it’s fine?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay. Mum is cool. You can sleep with me in my room.”  
  
Arthur raised his eyebrows and blushed but he looked pleased.  
  
They went into the house quietly, Merlin never letting go of Arthur’s hand. They stopped in the bathroom where Merlin gave a spare toothbrush to Arthur. He let the thrill of happiness at the sight of them brushing their teeth side by side in the mirror run through his whole body, wrapping itself around his veins and nestling somewhere between his lungs.  
  
In Merlin’s bedroom, he gave Arthur an oversized pair of boxers—that he never wore because they always fell off his hips—and a shirt that Will had once left and forgot about.  
  
They climbed into bed, and laid face to face. Arthur brushed Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb. Merlin closed his eyes briefly and sighed.  
  
“It’s like drowning, you know?” Arthur whispered, a slight frown on his face.  
  
And Merlin knew, god he knew. “Yeah, yeah it is.”  
  
There was more silence, calm and warm and light against their skin.  
  
“God!” Arthur said suddenly, shoving a pillow on his face, as if to hide. “I’ve turned into you.”  
  
And well, Merlin couldn’t really help but laugh at that.  
  
Arthur put his back against the wall and forced Merlin to turned around on his other side, wrapping his arm over his waist, bringing Merlin’s back against his chest. Merlin let himself be manhandled a bit—until he felt Arthur relax—and shivered at the ghost of his breath on the back of his neck.  
  
Merlin took a deep breath and tried to let his muscles relax, tried to let himself be soft and pliant and comfortable.  
  
“You know,” Arthur said against his skin. “When you think about it, we’re sixteen and we’ve already made a terrible drama out of our lives. That doesn’t bode well for the future”  
  
“Maybe it does,” Merlin said, burrowing his nose into his pillow. “Maybe the drama is over now.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “With you? I hardly think so.”  
  
“You’re one to talk Mr. I-repress-everything-I-feel.” Merlin swatted at Arthur’s hand over his stomach.  
  
“Maybe we’ll discover that we’re really brothers or something.”  
  
“Or my mum will marry your dad and then poison him in his sleep for his money.”  
  
“Sophia and Owain will conspire to break us up.”  
  
“I will be in a car accident and while I’m in a coma you will fall in love with my twin brother I didn’t know existed.”  
  
Arthur snickered and kissed Merlin’s shoulder. They fell silent.  
  
“How do we know so much about soaps?” Arthur asked after a while.  
  
“Fuck, let’s not go there.”  
  
Arthur snorted and tightened his grip on Merlin’s waist. Merlin put his arm over his and slipped his fingers between Arthur’s knuckles.  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, falling asleep.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Stay here this summer. Don’t go to Italy.”  
  
“Yeah, okay. Yes.”  
  
Merlin fell asleep to the soft sound of Arthur’s breathing and the warmth of his breath against his neck.

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” Arthur said.  
  
“That it is,” Merlin mumbled against Arthur’s chest.  
  
They were on Arthur’s bed, and Merlin had just recently discovered how very much sensitive Arthur’s nipples were and how he liked the way Arthur hissed and then moaned every time Merlin lightly bit one then soothed it with his tongue. He bit lightly once more, and twisted the other nipple between his fingers, marvelling at the way Arthur’s back arched off the bed.  
  
“My father’s coming back from his trip early tomorrow morning,” Arthur said breathless, visibly trying to stay in control, fisting the bedcovers tightly. “I think—Jesus, Merlin, fuck—” Merlin grinned and nibbled at Arthur’s nipples some more.  
  
“I think… you should stay here tonight, and—fuck!—and have breakfast with us tomorrow.”  
  
Merlin pulled away, ignoring the slight whimper coming from Arthur. He looked down at him, the blue of Arthur’s eyes bright and beautiful.  
  
“Arthur, are you sure?”  
  
Arthur bit his lip and nodded. “I’m sure.”  
  
Merlin smiled at him, nervous and elated all at once. And proud. Arthur grinned back at him and hitched his hips to rub against Merlin. Merlin smirked and went back to kissing Arthur’s chest, biting and licking in turn as he went down along it, down to his stomach where he nuzzled the light blond hair under Arthur’s navel, down more where he mouthed at Arthur’s hard cock through his trousers.  
  
“Merlin? What are you—fuck!”  
  
One of Arthur’s hand grabbed at Merlin’s hair a bit roughly and Merlin hummed against Arthur’s cock, sending a shiver over his body that Merlin loved. So he did it again.  
  
Later, they were both panting and sweaty, trying to catch their breath, and furiously, ridiculously happy. Merlin was both tired and restless, like everything inside of him wanted to come out and explore this bright, new wonderful world. He guessed Arthur felt a bit the same way, because after a quick kiss to Merlin’s forehead he swung his legs off the bed and got up.  
  
“Come on, Merlin, let’s go for a swim,” he said, digging into one of his drawers, finding his swim trunks and digging some more.  
  
The sun was bright and illuminated the bedroom, bouncing all around the furniture and the white walls, just to catch on Arthur’s skin.  
  
He _glowed_.  
  
Arthur was red and gold, Merlin realised, and laughed a bit, red and gold like his bloody kitchen. All warm and comfortable and… safe. Or at least he could be, if they played it right. And maybe, in the end, Arthur had always been that way, and it was Merlin who was full of shifting blues and greens, tones of aquamarine. Who knew really?  
  
Maybe they could mix somehow. He wondered what kind of colour they would make then, and if it’d be beautiful. He laughed some more, unable to contain all the elation blooming in his chest.  
  
“Stop giggling to yourself like an idiot,” Arthur said, throwing a pair of black swim trunks at Merlin’s face. “Come on.”  
  
Merlin got dressed and they raced all through the house, out the back, and straight into the pool.  
  
Merlin hadn’t been in this pool since that day, three years ago—though he had stayed in it much, much longer, carrying it everywhere he went. It felt like yesterday and it felt like forever ago. It was both foreign and deeply familiar. He swam for a while, eyes wide open, looking at the shadows shifting around him, at the way the sunlight pierced the water.  
  
He emerged with a great gasp of air.  
  
Merlin grabbed the diving board’s side with two hands, his arms more bent than they had been three years ago. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur with a small smile and Arthur smirked. He swam to him and grabbed the board in front of Merlin. His shoulders were wider, his hands larger, but he had the same smile, and water drops clung to his skin, making Merlin want to reach out and capture them one by one with his fingertips.  
  
Arthur kicked him gently under the water. “You could tell me about that day,” he said.  
  
“I could,” Merlin said. “You know we still have to sort through a whole bunch of shit, yeah?”  
  
Arthur just rolled his eyes. “I know, I know.”  
  
“You know this is all so very fucked and twisted, right?”  
  
Arthur shrugged, but kept on smiling. “We’re teenagers, Merlin, we’re expected to be complicated and fucked,“ he said. Then he added, more softly: “We can untangle ourselves, though. Right?”  
  
Merlin shook his head at the slight insecurity in Arthur’s voice, kicked him back, and grinned at him from under his eyelashes. Arthur burst out laughing, head thrown back, and Merlin could not help himself any longer, so he let go of the board and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck. Holding Arthur’s head in his hands, he kept his lips close to Arthur’s, but didn’t touch him.  
  
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Arthur said softly.  
  
“I don’t know,” Merlin whispered. “Last time I kissed you in this pool, I got my head shoved underwater for my trouble.”  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes again and sighed. “Stop being so melodramatic Merlin, and bloody kiss me already.”  
  
Merlin obliged. He nibbled softly at Arthur’s lower lip, before licking quickly across the teeth and lips stretched in a smile under his, tasting the water there, tasting the sunshine.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, we can do the untangling bit,” he finally answered when he pulled back a little, his words ghosting across Arthur’s cheek. Arthur moved his head a little and nuzzled Merlin’s neck.  
  
And finally, _finally_ , with his lips against Arthur’s jaw, and Arthur’s breath on his neck and shoulder, their bodies sticking together with heat and cold and water, and sweat—with sunshine all red and gold and blue, and green—Merlin felt himself unfurl slowly, his lungs expanding in a great _whoosh_ of air. His muscles loosened, his veins spread, his skin stretched and stretched, his bones fell slightly into place. _Yes_ , he thought, _finally_.  
  
Merlin supported himself with one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and grabbed his hair in the other, pulling back to look at him, a grin on his face. Arthur smirked. He let go of the board with one hand and lightly took hold of Merlin’s hair with it. Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur’s waist underwater.  
  
They looked at each other for a moment. Merlin took a deep breath, Arthur smiled—wide and blinding—and together, they dove.  
  


THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> If you see any mistakes and/or typos, or have issues with anything in my fics, please free to contact me on [tumblr](http://emjayelle.tumblr.com) (anonymous option is on) or on [livejournal](http://emjayelle.livejournal.com). Thank you.


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